An Unlikely Union
by TeaMonster
Summary: Troy's walls have not yet breached but Hector has been taken prisoner by the Greeks. In his cell he meets someone who will alter his life ... and his proud ways.
1. Default Chapter

An Unlikely Union

_Brief Overview: The Trojan War still rages. The Greeks have not yet breached Troy's protective walls but have caused havoc all over Troy's provinces. The leader of the Trojan army, the great Prince Hector, was not killed during his duel with Achillies but defeated and taken prisoner._

_This is the first chapter, I have already written a few more which will follow soon. Am new to this, so tell me what you think._

1. The Prisoner

Sofia stirred from her restless sleep as she heard angry male voices. They punctured her patchy dreams like animal claws ripping through flesh. The mechanical clunk and rattle of the heavy cell door being unlocked then slowly swung open made her sit bolt upright, her blue eyes wide with fear.

This was it.

They had come for her.

She blinked hard; her sore eyes were no longer used to brash lamplight, only the odd shaft of sunlight or soft blue glow of the moon, celestially permeating the small barred ventilation window. Not that there was much ventilation in the small cell she had called her home for almost a week ... at least she thought it was a week .... The days and nights both blurred into one under intolerable dread. Her eyes almost couldn't see for a moment - they were dry, and the effort her pupils were making to dilate in the alien lamplight made her feel like she was being stung by hornets. One of her sockets was also bruised ... a blow to the face, courtesy of the back hand of a guard. She held her hands up to her face, like a child would believing that if the threat could not been seen, it had disappeared. She touched the swelling around her brow with her finger tips, embarrassed at her grubby appearance but at the same time shielding herself from any more blows that she had learnt to expect.

Sofia drew her limbs up to her body like a spider threatened by a jabbing finger as she watched through the gaps in her fingers three silhouetted figures enter the cell. Their footsteps shuffled on the filthy stone floor, the dirt grinding against the flagstones. She kept deadly still. A low murmuring filled the stale air which she soon realised was herself, praying to the gods to be spared.

But nobody approached the small wooden bench Sofia sat on. Perhaps her stillness and the dark had convinced them the cell was vacant. But she had no time to ponder this as she watched the figures, three men, two roughly clasping the third in between them like a landlord and his son throwing a drunken fool out of his inn. Two guards with another prisoner. The guards' smooth armour glinted as fire reflects on marble. The prisoner's head hung resembling an apple ready to drop from a tree and his thick legs no longer supported his well-built frame, his feet trailing on the floor.

"Throw him in here, we'll play some more with him later!" one guard chuckled to the other with evil glee as they let go of their grip on the prisoner's arms, tossing him on to the hard, cold floor.

The dull thud of his body mingled with the chinking of the guards armour made Sofia shiver. She let out an involuntary shuddered gasp in relief, finding it difficult to draw breath back into her tight chest as the guards bolted the door behind them, laughing like demons of the underworld. The prisoner did not move or make a sound.

Stunned, not only by the events that had just transpired but by the fact that the gods had allowed her to survive another night, she remained as still as the moon outside. The steadfast moonlight gave the damp walls of the cell an eerie glow and in the silence she resembled a roe deer, small and vulnerable, startled by a strange noise. The man on the floor was equally as motionless. And he didn't appear to be breathing.

Gingerly placing her dirt-streaked feet on the floor she listened again. She feared to approach but curiosity and sympathy got the better of her. Quietly, carefully she padded over to the sprawled figure, senses heightened as if she was expecting something. Attack? Revulsion? Compassion? She wasn't sure what exactly. That week had been a strange passage into unknown emotions.

The man lay on his front and had been stripped naked. His broad back was peppered with lesions and burns where he had been repeatedly whipped and tortured with what must have been a red-hot poker. Closing her eyes momentarily and sighing, she tried not to imagine what other unspeakable acts - designed to take away his dignity - had been committed against this man. She placed her small palm onto his right shoulder, the skin burning hot and covered in sheen of sweat. Kneeling there, her palm still in place, all her fear had been forgotten as inquisitiveness took over. Papa had always said that her wolf cub-like bravery would get her into trouble....

With one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling a mass of his wavy dark mane, she hauled his limp head and shoulders onto her lap. Sticky tendrils of his hair, aided by dried blood and sweat, clung to his face. His eyes were closed but his brow was furrowed, in anger, in pain. The masculine features were distorted - his nose had suffered a fresh break and blood was forming a little rivulet from one nostril. The right cheek was grey-blue swollen and his bottom lip was split like a pomegranate cut with a blunt knife. Sofia felt for his pulse – the veins in his neck were bulging but she could only feel the faintest of heart beats. Alive ... only just - but he still drew no breath.

Sofia was no physician, so she could only guess why he didn't breathe. But all the guessing in the world would not help this man – time was of the essence and the longer he couldn't draw breath, the less chance there was of reviving him. Panicking a little, she grasped his shoulders, shaking him firmly. His head lolled from side to side, a gurgling sound emitting from his throat

And then she remembered – a sudden epiphany from the gods. Where they watching right now, pitying them both? A boy in her village, one summer whilst playing in the fields, suffered a strange fit. Whilst his body was convulsing on the grass, he swallowed his own tongue, blocking his airway. The boy survived due to the quick thinking of a nearby herdsman who had seen the whole horrible scene whilst he was tending his goats. Alerted by the boy's playmate's cries, He dropped his crook at the gate of the goat pen and ran across the field almost faster than Apollo himself could run. The herdsman apparently knew what to do as he was used to aiding newly-born kids to breathe.

Without thinking any longer, Sofia pulled the man closer but with difficulty – his unconsciousness made him heavy like an unwieldy slab of lumber. Her lungs filled with the strong odour of his skin – musky and strangely metallic. Copying what she had seen the herdsman do that summer's eve years ago, she slipped two fingers into his mouth. This was an easier task than moving his body; his jaw was loose and pliable as if it was made of dough. His pale lips were dry and cracked and crusts of blood and saliva had formed on the whiskers in the corners of his mouth. She could feel immediately, triumphantly that his tongue had indeed slipped backwards and her fingers gently drew it forward. A short gush of blood immediately followed, soiling her already filthy robe. Sofia watched amazed, his face slowly coming to life. He feebly coughed, spluttered and screwed up his eyes, the dark eyebrows forced down to meet the creases in his eyelids.

As his head resided in her lap she was suddenly highly aware of her inappropriate closeness to this stranger. They made a strange sight on the cell floor, the beggar nursemaid and the wounded soldier. She hastily gathered up what clean straw she could find around her and made him a crude makeshift pillow. It had taken what little strength she had left to revive him; there was no way she would be able to move this hulk of a man to convalesce on the bench with her tiny frame. She poured a little of her precious water into his groaning lips - it was terribly murky but unclean water was the least of their worries. With the sensation of wetness on his lips, he opened his eyes. He was looking right at her but did not seem to actually see. Delirious with pain and exhaustion, the corneas were so dark brown they were almost black but the eyes themselves were cloudy reminding Sofia of milky opal stones. His robeless body was trembling, shivering or reacting to the sheer effort of being alive – perhaps both. She covered his modesty with her tatty cloak, shielding her own eyes from the indecency of a naked man, a sight she had never witnessed before.

The guards didn't return that night. They were either expecting him to die or waiting for him to heal, fit enough to feel pain once more. Sofia guessed it was the latter.

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	2. An Unlikely Union 2: An Exchange

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: I would just like to say thanks for all the positive feedback I have had for my first chapter (and indeed first story!). It's given me a lot to live up to though, I hope I don't disappoint! I am aware that I can over describe things and I'm not sure that my conversation flows that well ... I just hope that you can imagine this as well as I do._

_As for the couple of queries I have had via feedback ... the name Sofia is in fact a name of Greek origin, it means 'wisdom'. And as for the whereabouts of Andromache, you will just have to sit tight, keep reading and see!_

2. An Exchange

She awoke with a jolt as if having a falling dream - hitting the ground at speed, limbs tense, eyes snapping open suddenly. Sofia had momentarily forgot where she was ... but then the enormity of it all engulfed her once again, just like it did every day, her heart dropping like a pebble in icy water.

A prisoner of the Greeks, a spoil of war. And one with a very uncertain future.

Lying on her back with her knees raised, the splintered wooden slats of the bench pressed uncomfortably into her flesh. Sofia frowned at the spear of sunlight which partially illuminated the cell and lifted her wrist to her forehead to shield her delicate eyes from its intrusion.

She gazed at the wall. A pair of manacles hung on one side by a bolt and chain, a constant symbol of terror. Sofia thanked the gods every day that she had not yet been restrained by them. Moss was the only living thing that seemed to thrive in there, growing on the slimy stone walls, blissfully unaware of the world. She took a deep waking breath which almost made her retch. The cell was warming up in the sunlight, heating everything, making smells more pungent. The odour of human excrement was overpowering, hanging in the air longer than the odd pitiful wail of fellow prisoners, who were being kept in cells near her own. It must have been well into the afternoon when Sofia awoke, the sun seemed to be high in the sky.

The pit of her stomach ached, with hunger; with longing ... she wished that she was still asleep. Sleep was the only respite that she had from this hell on earth.

A rustling noise from a corner of the cell startled her – too loud a noise to be caused by a rat, surely. And then she remembered. The man. She sat bolt upright.

He was sitting in the far corner propped with his back against the wall, watching her intently. Her cloak was still protecting his modesty, draped over his thighs and waist. It was obvious that he trying to sit up straight, defiant - but it was also obvious that it was causing him some effort and pain to do so. He held his left arm across his stomach to support his ribs, his face unflinching but his body visibly wincing every now and again as he breathed. His expression was strange; a mix of anger, nobility and untrustfulness. Whoever this man was, he was no mere soldier. He must have been important. She could tell by his manner, his poise – and the fact he was being kept imprisoned and alive.

His black-eyed stare unnerved her and she dropped her gaze submissively.

"I suppose I should thank you for saving my life but you should have let me die." He finally addressed her, his firm voice a little hoarse with thirst.

Puzzled at his ungratefulness, she studied his face again. Grazed and swollen and a black eye almost obscuring the socket on his right side, his features appeared weary. She supposed he was at least ten years older; he had an air of experience about him. But then again, Sofia herself was by no means mature although considered in her village to be past marrying age, an old maid in her twenty-fourth year.

Footsteps outside: a guard approached. The door of the cell made the familiar clunking noise and slowly swung open in the heavy air. Sofia's eyes darted from the man to the shadowy figure in the doorway, her hands grasped the edge of the bench and her knuckles turned white. The man did not even acknowledge the guard, he seemed fearlessly indifferent. The guard stood there for a moment, hand lazily resting on the handle of a sword that was nestled at his hip as if he was half expecting resistance or escape. A satisfied sneer crept onto his thin lips as he surveyed the conditions of the cell and the prisoners it contained. In fact, he appeared to be gaining some sort of sadistic pleasure out of the scene. The guard's other hand held something which he tossed across the cell. It slid noisily across the flagstones and landed with a clatter at the man's feet.

"Here 'Prince', Lord Achilles thought you may not feel at home in your new kingdom without your royal belongings" The guard mocked.

What lay there appeared to be a pile of cloth, perhaps once a splendid a robe, now torn and bloodied. The clatter was caused by a piece of bronze, a dented and defaced breast plate. The guard cackled to himself and bolted the door, his definite, rhythmical footsteps becoming faint as he marched back up the corridor beyond.

The man stared at the mangled piece of bronze beside him for a minute and then took it in his hand wistfully, leaning forward with a little difficulty. His body did not wince this time, seemingly too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice his bruised or broken ribs He traced the raised pattern with his long fingers. The insignia of the Trojan army. Sofia's heart jumped into her throat .... the title... the armour.... She knew who this man was. Everybody did.

"My Lord, forgive me, I ...." Sofia remembered her place, and dutifully stood to bow to him, her legs nervously shaking.

He smiled to himself inexplicably. In arrogance or madness Sofia couldn't tell. He did not condescend to look at her, his fingertips still concerned with tracing the outlines.

"Do not bow to me. I am no longer a prince; I am now just a prisoner of the Greeks like you."

Sofia could feel her gaunt cheeks blush, his tone making her feel incredibly foolish. She silently returned to her bench like a berated child. But resentment and curiosity soon took over. Instead of keeping her eyes lowered like she probably should have, Sofia stole glances at him as he sat there, presiding over his corner territory, deep in gloomy thought. She had heard all about him of course – he was a legend in his own lifetime, it was even rumoured that he was prized by Zeus himself. The old men in the village loved to tell tales of his bravery whilst the young boys would play-fight with wooden swords, trying to enact his valiant battles and pretend to be their hero. She cocked her head to the side, trying to study his face, squinting in a bid to make out his features beneath the dirt, swelling and swarthy beard. His shoulder-length dark hair was as messy as a wild ram's coat. Perhaps he was handsome, like he was rumoured to be, it was hard to tell. He was certainly rugged. But his eyes seemed sad as he handled the breast-plate, as if the weight of death hung heavy on his brow.

"Do not stare at me girl, it is not your place" He suddenly barked.

This made her anxious and she began to babble.

"I ... I am sorry ... it's just that I have seen you once before, I think. I saw you and your brother Paris hunting in the hills near my home. I knew that you were the Princes, your armour was so grand ... You...you rode a white steed ... You are Lord Hector, are you not?"

He shot her a cold look for waking him out of his nightmarish daydreams with her nervous stutters. Or perhaps it was because she had deigned to speak to him without being invited to do so. He rolled his eyes wearily and lent his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling as if he could not be bothered to converse. But she was eventually graced her with a retort.

"And why do you think that?"

"Well, you are not Paris, he is around my age. People say that he is so handsome Aphrodite herself is in love with him. And, begging my pardon Lord, if Aphrodite was so enamoured with you, I'm certain she would see fit to grant you your freedom."

She couldn't stop herself prattling away as if her mouth was no longer controlled by her brain. Still staring at the ceiling, he laughed, charmed by her naïve boldness. The laugh made no sound but shook his aching ribs so hard he held his arm round them tighter.

"And what do people say about Hector?" He fished, still amused.

"They say Prince Hector is a great man, a valiant man who is full of honour for Troy. They say he will make a fine king one day just like his father Priam ...."

Something in her comments changed his momentary cheer back to brooding melancholy. Sofia wondered what it was she had said which upset him so – perhaps it was not the right moment to massage his ego.

"So-called Hector the Great!" He chuckled to himself in disbelief; the hand that wasn't supporting his ribs was outstretched upwards as if to draw attention to the irony of his current situation "People are foolish. And as for Paris ... Paris is nothing but a thoughtless boy, if it wasn't for my brother this war may have been avoided."

He had given himself away, reluctantly. With his hand still outstretched Sofia noticed thick blood oozing from a nick in his palm. Extending his fingers like that must have re-opened the fierce looking wound.

"Lord Hector, your hand.... Here, you must cover it before it gets infected ..."

He shot her another frosty look as she tore away a semi-clean strip from the hem of her gown and approached him. As she knelt next to him and held out the cloth, he attempted to shift his upper body away from her defensively. Undaunted, she tried to reach for his hand again but he tugged it away.

"Fine! Do it yourself ..." she exclaimed in defeat.

He stubbornly snatched the strip from her and struggled to bind it over his own hand, pulling it taught and securing it with a knot using his teeth. Sofia watched in affront.

"You do not trust me do you?"

He said nothing.

"Well, I am obviously not Greek, if that is what you worries you ..." She continued.

"Nor are you Trojan."

Even recovering there on the floor he had an intimidating presence that could not be ignored. Sofia could feel her face flush again, this time in anger at his conceited. For such a supposedly righteous man he had displayed little politeness and good breeding.

"Why do you say that, Lord Hector?" Sofia tried hard to veil her displeased tone with protocol, her politeness hanging by a thread.

"You have blue eyes and pale skin. You are not native to Troy. Where were you enslaved from?"

She frowned at him as if she could not quite believe the impertinence of his comments. The expression in her eyes began to mirror his black-eyed stare.

"No, I am not native. I was orphaned when I was three years old and bought to Troy on a ship trading copper. But I can assure you, I am no slave."

Sofia attempted to stand, to escape the infuriating situation - and her infuriating inmate. She turned her back on him. It was disrespectful to show her back to a man, let alone one of royal standing but she simply didn't care any longer. She didn't know whether she would survive to see the moon rise once again, she was not about to waste time worrying about social etiquette. He raised his voice to show his repugnance.

"I have never met such an insolent girl in all my years. Aren't peasants taught respect anymore?!"

"I am no peasant!" She paused and sunk back to her knees to face him once more, her blood boiling.

"Well, if you are not a peasant, what then?! .... Not a priestess judging from your dress ...yet you are too raw to be a lady...Enough of these guessing games. Who are you girl? Speak!"

"I do not owe you any explanation. But if you must know, I live in a village beyond the protective walls of Troy. The local scholar adopted me ... I work at the school with my Papa"

Hector inwardly cursed himself; he should have guessed she wasn't a slave. She was too articulate.

"So what is you name, Schoolmistress?"

"And why do you care?!" She spat.

Hector looked as if he was about to explode, his pent up aggression almost reaching its peak.

"You must respect me girl!" He bellowed.

"Why should I when you show no respect for me!"

He had never been spoken to like that by anyone before, not even his father. He raised his dark eyebrows incredulously.

"Such delusions of grandeur! You may have been in the upper echelons of society in your little village but to me, you are just a peasant girl, not even worthy of my respect ..."

Sofia waved her hand dismissively.

"And you may be a Prince but to me you are just an insignificant man, a wounded tormenter."

"You should fear me ...." Hector snarled dangerously.

"And why should I? For such a noble man you act like a spoilt child ... and for such a great warrior you seem to love to bicker like an old woman."

"Watch that sharp tongue of yours, girl or I may just snap it off..."

"Trying to bully a woman now, are we? How brave. Do you think I care if you strike me? Look at my face; I have been dealt a few clever blows since I have been here. I am to it numb now. But the Greeks have the power to kill me whereas you do not. I hear you are a fierce fighter, yet far too reckless, much like a wild dog. But at this moment it seems as if you could not even squash an ant."

As if to disprove her theory and with reactions like lightening, Hector reached out and grasped his left hand completely around her slender neck, the large thumb resting against her windpipe. He was menacingly calm.

"All I have to do is squeeze."

Petrified by fright, Sofia didn't dare speak. If she moved a muscle or tried to struggle free he could crush her with one deft movement. She let out an involuntary whimper as her eyes welled with salty tears, collecting quickly in the corners then silently running down her cheeks.

But just as suddenly as he had lashed out, something in her face made Hector's wrath subside. His features that were contorted in fury - the brow, the nose, the mouth - melted in pure disgust. Disgust at himself. He let go of his grip, studying the hand he had held her with in amazement, turning the palm over and back again as if it had taken on a life of its own.

"You are right; I should have let you die." She snivelled, appalled by his actions. She scampered desperately on the floor for a moment, trying to find her feet.

Laying there on the bench, Sofia tried to make she look as small as possible, drawing her limbs in, a primal reaction to protect herself from such a brute. She wept to herself softly all the while.

"Why have they not killed you or sold you, girl?" Hector suddenly thought aloud.

She shrugged.

"Do not call me girl ... my name is Sofia..." Her voice wavered, muffled by her arms which she held against her ears, her fingers clasped at the top of her head.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew the cell was purple-dark in twilight. And her cloak had been carefully layed over her like a blanket.

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	3. An Unlikely Union 3: Sofia

An Unlikely Union

_Quick comment: Thanks again for all the positive reviews guys, you are really inspiring me to push on with this fic, as you can tell! __Fallenangel26: Thanks for the tip re: italicised dialogue, I will remove it - I am not used to writing speech without indentation! Lady Hades: I promise I will write a Hector/Andromache fic next ... but as I said before, you will have to keep reading this one to find out about her whereabouts._

3. Sofia

Hector watched the girl as she stood tiptoe on the bench, every sinew stretched, trying to see out of the window. He could see the bundle of muscles in her bare calves protrude as she reached. Her feet were a filthy grey-brown colour right up past her ankles, like a beggar who had spent her life living on dusty track roads. The sun shone through her shabby robe, illuminating it like gossamer. With her limbs stretched like that he could make out the dark outline of her curves, the sight almost beautifully indecent. It was obvious from her slim figure that she had never bore children; perhaps her purity made her a valuable commodity to the Greeks. That and her face – it was striking. Blue eyes were rare on Trojan shores but blue eyes and milky skin were even rarer than snow-capped mountains in summer. Her earnest facial features, dirty and a little bruised in places, were small and symmetrical. Perhaps she could be a beauty – if she was not so ragged around the edges.

She was a little more pale and drawn than she usually might be, probably due to the fact that since her imprisonment, she had eaten nothing but scraps Hector would not even see fit to throw to his hounds. Her dark wavy hair, so long it almost reached the small of her back, was matted in places. She pulled the length of it over her shoulder as she stood there, combing her small fingers through the knotted ends absent-mindedly. The short curly layers framing her face occasionally intruded into her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, very much like the way one would brush away an irritating fly.

Hector begrudged her; he found her disrespectful and overconfident. She had obviously been pandered to and mollycoddled all her life by this man she called her Papa. As a result the girl seemed to have ideas above her station – why else would she have addressed Hector in that impudent way?

It was her fault he had lashed out ...Yes. It was her fault. She had provoked him; she had made him do it.

However, no matter how much he begrudged her, he was equally fascinated. She looked as delicate as an orchid but seemed as resilient as a bumble bee. Women were complex at the best of times - and she was certainly full of contradictions.

He rubbed both of his hands wearily over his face, wrinkling his forehead and closing his eyes - another duty he could do without was having to act as protector of the girl. But his chivalry seemed redundant as right at that moment it appeared that she did not need protecting at all.

A small platter of food was pushed through the gap between metal door and stone jamb by an unseen hand. Food was not delivered every day but rather sporadically. Hector had guessed it was whenever there were leftovers from the barracks. He had spent the last couple of days calculating where he was exactly but in truth this had been a fruitless exercise - he had no idea - but he guessed that there must have be barracks nearby; the Greeks would not have been stupid enough to imprison him, of all people, on a low-security site. He was certain however that he was not on Trojan soil any longer because if he was, his men would have discovered him by now, he would have been liberated and all his captors vengefully slain and burnt.

Sofia jumped down from the bench and padded towards the platter, trying to hide her hungry enthusiasm. A rogue rat, brown and oily, appeared from the shadows and also made for the platter. Unfazed, Sofia simply kicked it away with her bare foot as if it were an ordinary chore for a young maiden. The rat squeaked in protest and scampered away, instantly dissuaded. Sofia picked up the platter and inspected its contents: A few chunks of mouldy bread, a bone with strings of old meat still somehow clinging to it and some sort of putrid-smelling curd. Was it meant to be cheese or did it used to be milk? She studied it then poked it gingerly with her finger but still couldn't quite work it out.

"Will you not eat Lord Hector? Surely residing on that cold floor is not aiding you recovery?"

On her journey back to the bench, Sofia had paused and stood imploringly Hector. Now wearing the robe the guard had tossed in, he had only managed a few steps around the cell in the last two days. But he seemed to be getting better. He looked up at her, raising one dark eyebrow. She had been sulking like a child for the last day and had not attempted to utter a word to him since their little altercation. This suited him fine. He had nothing to say to her anyway.

"Talking to me now? You do surprise me - I didn't think you of all people would be so concerned over my welfare"

Sofia rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, not surprised that the olive branch she had offered was being refused. She thought him to be a like a sulking child too. And a very stubborn one at that.

"We are not enemies, Lord Hector. Suit yourself; the only thing that concerns me is not being stuck in a cell with a corpse".

"I am not hungry." He eyed the 'food' warily

"Come. You must keep up your strength for the days ahead. Not one morsel has passed your lips since you have been here."

"Why do you care so much what happens to me, girl?" He laughed a little arrogantly, making her feel insignificant. He had a habit of doing that. Sofia's patience began to evaporate faster than the damp on the cell wall. He had not even bothered to learn her name.

"I don't care about you. But I realise that if you fail, so will Troy. And, unlike you, I don't want the deaths of thousands of innocent Trojans on my conscience just because the Prince is feeling sorry for himself."

His superior smirk dropped at her brutal honesty. The truth hurt. His mind raced for a moment as he tried to think of a clever retort to topple her in her tracks, just like the precise long-spear he would use in battle could - but he was beaten. She was sharper than he gave her credit for.

"You don't give up, do you?" he dismissed.

"No. Not as easily as you, evidently" She sighed again, finding it difficult to be humble in the face of such adversity. But she persisted "Look, the invitation still stands, I do not have the energy or inclination to argue with you any longer. Come and join me on the bench ..."

She was a little surprised that he had not reacted – verbally or physically - to her austere words. Perhaps his energy was also wearing thin.

"Are you not scared to be near me?"

"Yes – but I do not think that you would kill me; the way I see it you probably do not want to be trapped in a cell with a corpse either" Sofia replied without hesitation, almost as if she was thinking aloud.

Her reasoning made a little involuntary smile upturn the very corners of his mouth - he hadn't thought of it like that. Encouraged by his tiny display of warmth, she insistently offered out her hand to help him up. But he scowled at it, refusing to take it. Stripped of prince-ship all but by title, his pompous attitude was the only thing that he had managed to hang on to. And he seemed to embrace it with all his might.

Sofia had never, in all her life come across such an obstinate character, even compared to some of the children who had attended the school, children who knew no better. She crossed her arms and watched in amusement as he attempted to rise. He could not yet do this in one clean movement – he crouched, steadying himself with the wall, and then summoned all the strength he had left in his bones to actually stand. He performed it like a military operation, stony-faced in concentration. He lurched forward for a moment, and wobbled a little, resembling a foal taking its first steps. But even too weak to pull himself up to his full height he appeared to dwarf Sofia. Walking took more sheer effort than standing; he shuffled and limped a little, lack of vigour and injury meant that he couldn't yet stay upright for long. He was stubborn and proud, trying hard not to display his handicap, his weakness. Sofia noticed that the rips in his robe corresponded with the wounds he had suffered, torn skin and material. A section of the damaged neckline hung low, threatening to slip completely from his muscular shoulder, displaying the nape of his neck and the blade which protruded rebelliously. He lowered his backside slowly next to her on bench like an old man, one hand supporting his lumbar region, exhaling noisily in relief that his endeavour was over.

"Do you have any broken bones?" Sofia asked, noticing his difficulty.

"I don't think so – yet anyway." He was all too aware of his impending fate. He knew that one night soon the guards would return for him. He was loathed to admit it but Sofia was right about keeping his strength up. He needed to be ready for them.

Once Hector had started to eat he realised how hungry he really was. He devoured a stale lump of bread almost in one gulp before he realised Sofia was waiting politely for him to have his fill before she herself ate. He looked at her sheepishly, it was a strange situation, reluctant allies, social boundaries blurring like wispy clouds surrounding Mount Ida on a windy day. One moment the girl would treat him like a man-child, the next like a prince. He pulled a second lump apart with his big fingers, offering one half to her which she accepted courteously. She bit into it, tasting it with the tip of her tongue and then screwing up her face as if she was eating a whole raw garlic bulb.

"The trick is ... to close your eyes and pretend you are at a sumptuous banquet, with the tastiest food that melts in your mouth as if it were made for the gods themselves"

He demonstrated by closing his eyes and rapturously eating his half of the almost green bread. Sofia giggled, a little taken a back by this hint of wit.

"I have never been to a banquet before ... what are they like?"

"Well, the food and wine is so plentiful it is hard to believe it all gets consumed. However, good conversation does not flow as freely as the wine." He raised an eyebrow dryly.

He hated the pomp of the royal court. He preferred to spend time with his family without the inevitable luxury of servants or boorish drunken dignitaries. Famed as a horse-master as much as a sword-master, he often escaped from the Court like a phantom unnoticed, to go riding alone by the river Scamander which wound around the side of Troy's walls and beyond like a serpent. He always took his favourite horse, Whitefoot – a faithful mare although she wasn't always so. She had once been wild, not allowing anyone to mount her without kicking her hooves and tossing her blonde mane. Indeed, Hector had suffered a few bruises to his body – and pride – before she had been broken in. Once, he had made the mistake of approaching her from behind as she was tethered in the stables ... her long ears swivelled backwards as she heard his footsteps approach then she kicked him square in the ribs with her back legs, knocking him for six. He had never made that mistake again. She had also thrown him into the clay-mud of the river bank more time than Hector could count ... but he had gained her trust since. Now when he approached her in the stables, she would whinny and bow her head, especially if he bore the gift of a rosy red apple and she always led his chariot into battle, almost as fearless as her master. Riding on Whitefoot, at speed with the wind ruffling his hair was when he really felt free. Free of all the duty he had inherited as soon as he ever drew breath on this earth.

A low wail could suddenly be heard from a neighbouring cell, waking Hector from his homesick reverie. He watched Sofia pause her chewing, fear momentarily flashing across her normally muted eyes. That noise would certainly dampen anyone's appetite, even those who were starving. Both knew what had transpired in that cell the night previous, they had heard everything in the pitch black. Their fellow prisoner, possibly a Trojan soldier, had obviously tried to rush the guards in sudden panic, a desperate attempt to escape. In punishment at his ill-chosen revolt, the merciless guards had decided to remove both of his hands. The hacking noises had echoed around the cell, the sword they had used was probably too blunt to slice through bone in one clean sweep. Jumbled with the hacking noises were the cries of the prisoner, pitifully pleading to be killed instead. How he had survived such maiming was anyone's guess but he had been wailing on and off for a few hours now, probably slipping in and out of consciousness. Both Hector and Sofia had not mentioned the incident but were all too aware of it.

Sofia attempted conversation in attempt to block out the wails. Denial seemed to be her only option although Hector was obviously hardened to such horrific situations and no longer felt the sensation of fear. Her heart lurched as her ears registered the cry "...Let me die with dignity ...!" She closed her eyes momentarily, trying not to think about what fate awaited her. Dignity was meagre in these dark days. A mere luxury.

"Tell me more of the palace, Lord Hector ..."

"No ... why don't you tell me about where you are from? All you have talked about so far is the school. I see or know little about Troy's provinces." His voice seemed strained, not yet comfortable with conversing and making Sofia think that he wasn't really that interested anyway.

"There is nothing much to tell ... it is primarily a farming community I suppose, each day goes by uneventfully very much like the last"

"A bright girl like you must become tired of such sleepy life ..."

Sophia blushed, she felt flattered. "I busy myself at the school or take walks in the countryside or in the hills."

"Is that is how you saw my brother and I hunting? On one of your walks? We never see a soul in those hills."

Smiling to herself, she felt a little embarrassed. She remembered that day well. One bright autumn morning, she had decided to go mushroom-picking. Her quest took her far in to the woody hills, even a spell of driving rain could not halt her. She had spotted a particularly fleshy group of mushroom caps by the gnarled roots of an old tree. She had stooped to place her prize in the front pocket of her apron, her simple robe slowly soaking the rainwater from the long blades of grass and crunchy fallen leaves. But then a strange noise startled her which made her drop the fungi, some caps breaking into pieces as they impacted on the ground. It was the thud of hooves and the light, almost bell-like chinking of metal against metal. She hid behind the thick trunk of the old tree which easily obscured her small frame and watched as the riders came into view. They halted in a clearing for a moment, listening to the noises of the wood then resumed their lazy trot. Sofia heart thumped in her chest, pulsing up to her throat, a little scared but in awe of their handsome horses and grand armour. Their tall, menacing helmets glinted in the dappled sunlight. She remembered that one rider was slightly bigger than the other but their manner and gestures were very much alike. She could not make out their faces, as much as she tried as the nose-guards on their helmets obscured their features. She had watched, absolutely transfixed until they finally disappeared behind the brow of a hill. By the time she had abandoned her position behind the tree, the bottom of her gown was sopping wet, sticking like glue to her shins. She must have only been about fifteen.

"Have you even been to the city?" Hector snapped her out of her lucid recollection.

"Once ... all the villagers visited the city, everyone was needed to transport goats and grain for a grand celebration. A wedding I think ...a royal wedding ..."

Hector shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realising that this must have been his own betrothal. A painfully private man, he attempted to focus the conversation away from himself, where it looked as if it was heading. He bit into another chunk of bread.

"Are you married? Do you have a young man waiting for you ... or fighting for you?" He asked, mouth half full.

Sofia smiled again, amused by his forgetful manners and shook her head.

"A few suitors were introduced but Papa did not like any of them. He said he did not think they were good enough for me ...now I am seen as too old to marry." She shrugged.

"Too old? You must only be in your twentieth year!" Hector scoffed, almost showering her in crumbs.

"Twenty fourth."

"And why where none of these suitors good enough for you?"

"I don't know. I suppose he thought I should marry for love rather than money. Most of the men who were introduced were well-off but far too old and not at all interested in me as a person, just the dowry and my home-making skills."

"For love? What a fanciful idea!" He exclaimed, popping the last of his share of bread in to his mouth.

Sofia bit her bottom lip, deeply offended. Her thoughts momentarily drifted to her Papa. She could still picture him, sitting in his tall chair, smoothing his balding grey head with one hand. Nothing could distract him from reading his manuscripts in the evenings, not even when Sofia fetched him supper, honeyed wine and gave him a loving peck on the cheek goodnight. His domed, shiny forehead made him look as intelligent as he perhaps was. He was her father in every way except blood ... they had a bond stronger than blood.

Hector registered that there was something wrong - her expression had suddenly dropped and her eyes glazed. He stopped chewing and paused thoughtfully, his Adam's apple swallowing hard.

"What happened to your Papa? What happened to you?"

She studied the star-shaped lichen growing on the stone wall next to her head for a moment, touching the ruffled orange points with her fingertip. She sighed, almost incapable of unearthing the terrible memories she had quickly learnt to bury.

"The Greeks ... they stormed the village, torched the school with Papa and the children still inside. I was out collecting water at the time. I returned in time to hear their screams but not in time to save anyone. I was lying sobbing in the warm ash when the Greeks found me. They took me without resistance"

Sofia began to weep soundly as the memories were hastily exhumed. Hector watched her face blankly; he felt pity, and sheer fury at the Greeks. What could he do? The tears ran from her eyes and left clean, gleaming streaks on her dirty face. They dropped onto her robe making tiny parts of it seem transparent. He reached forward and touched her arm, he did not know how to comfort her, did not know if he should. Sofia flinched at his touch; the only human contact her body could remember was of the violent sort. His hand shrank back.

"I am sorry, Sofia" is all he could think to say.

He had remembered her name.

14


	4. An Unlikely Union 4: Breaking Point

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: Another chapter! I know that they are coming thick and fast at the moment, this is because I had drafted a few chapters a while ago ... after this one, I think it might slow down as I have lots of work to do on the rest of the story. I have also had to up the rating due to some slight sexual references in this chapter (not gratuitous, all imperitive the story, of course!_ ;o)_ ). Keep up with the reviews, please!_

_Fallenangel26: of course you can use my heroine's name, I'm chuffed you are! LadyHades: I see you point regarding the Beslan tragedy. I didn't think_ :o(_ but I did write the chapter about 6 weeks ago, I promise! I am leaving it in because it is core to Sofia's character and it didn't seem to offend anyone (oh, and have had some great ideas with the pending A/H fic!)_

4. Breaking Point

They finally came.

Not one night, demonic shadows moving in the darkness like the prisoners assumed they would. But in broad daylight, even before the ring-necked doves had flown across the sky to roost for the evening. They had come for Hector. They must have. All those big men where not required to overwhelm Sofia ....

It seemed to Sofia that the entire Greek army had poured into the cell that afternoon, four days since Hector had arrived. They had burst in so suddenly, door thrown back, a chaos of arms, feet and helmets crowding the tiny space. She had not even heard their approach in the corridor beyond as if they had magically glided across the ground for their entrance. Everything from then on began to unfold in slow motion, as if the gods had decided to halt time, frivolously tossing the hourglass and spilling the sand on the ground. Shouts and yells were momentarily blocked out of her ears by the sound of her own blood rushing around her head.

Hector, who was slumped in his usual corner suddenly sprung to his feet on the offensive, his self-preservation mechanism kicking in as fast as his strong heart was pumping. Amongst the confusion, his eyes momentarily darted to where Sofia sat. They held a concerned expression, as if he was checking her composure or even pleading with her not to get involved. She drew her legs close under her chin - her version of a self-preservation mechanism - too scared and too enraged to cry. For a brief moment the cell door was tantalisingly left wide open and her mind raced, weighing up options ... she could make a run for it, she was easily small and lithe enough to slip between the guards and through the doorway like a tiny fish. But a grabbing hand could reach out and seize her by the arm or by the hair ... and the idea of losing her hands was not an attractive prospect.

Three guards entered first, immediately rushing Hector, trying to overpower him by tactically using speed and surprise. They were not fast enough; he fought them off with all the strength he could muster. He had somehow snatched the mangled breastplate which had lain dejectedly on the floor and wielded it as a makeshift weapon. He unleashed his aggression on the first guard that approached, knocking him to the floor in one good, clean blow. The guard rolled there for a moment in the dirt, becoming covered in just as much dust and straw as the prisoners. Sofia saw that his face had been smashed; his nose had burst in a shower of blood and tissue like a tomato squashed under foot. If Hector had been at his optimum, his other two assailants would have been lying at his feet in a bloody mess too – but he wasn't quite fit enough.

The two remaining guards managed to pin Hector to the wall, the breast plate falling to the floor with a clang, forcing his arms over his head and into the manacles. Hector acted like a threatened wolf backed into a corner, nostrils flaring, breathing heavily and struggling so violently, the metal bands began to cut into his tanned wrists and leave red welts. His rage made his mouth pucker, his dark brows sink and gather to the bridge of his nose, his eyes blacker than obsidian. Sofia had witnessed this primal face before, she feared it. The guards would have feared it too if their quarry had not been restrained.

"What in the name of the gods is that pathetic piece of bronze doing in here?! Get that guard out before the smell of blood excites that barbarian anymore!" a weighty voice shouted as the pandemonium subsided.

The injured guard was dragged out as the remaining visitors crowded around and waited for Hectors fury to wane as if they were at the theatre, watching intrigued and amused at the spectacle. It took some time for him to stop struggling and snarling. An authoritative looking man dressed in a heavy-looking red robe, his neck dripping in fine jewellery, broke from the crowd. He was shorter and at least twenty years older than Hector, carrying a golden staff as he sauntered slowly up to vulnerable prisoner, as if to highlight his superiority. He had a despicable countenance, one of greed and arrogance, it was written all over his face and his body language. The man looked the restrained captive up and down mockingly, and then reached out with his free hand, snatching at Hectors chin; He squeezed it, forcing his face to turn side wards, forcing his black defiant stare away. He meant to humiliate the prisoner in front of the responsive audience. The man laughed heartily as he finally dropped his grip on Hector, and then tossed his own long grey curls over his shoulder. The others laughed too. It echoed around the cell making Sofia's ears ring. She closed her eyes in agony – she did not want to witness the awfulness that was about to unfold. But she had no choice.

"What have we here? The great Hector, Prince and Commander of the Trojan armies! What have they done to your handsome face?" The man joked, turning to his audience as he addressed Hector, marvelling at his own wit.

Hector was motionless like the calm before the storm. Nostrils still flaring, he did not once drop his defiant stare.

"Oh come, come Hector, you desired peace with the Greeks once ... who would have thought it, the great Hector, a pacifist!" The man teased, moving closer in overconfidence.

Hector spat at him and struggled again, trying to lunge at the man a few millimetres out of his range. The man, unthreatened, calmly wiped the saliva off his face with the tips of his podgy fingers and struck Hector across the head with his staff in retaliation, his face starting to boil at Hectors 'insolence'.

"My dear boy, you are certainly no longer in a position to quarrel with me!"

"JUST KILL ME AND FINISH IT ONCE AND FOR ALL AGAMEMNON, YOU SWINE!"

Hectors yell was so sudden, loud and rebellious that it made Sofia flinch. As he shouted the man's name, Sofia realised that the despicable figure was King Agamemnon of Greece. It was his ships that had bought the Greeks to Trojan shores; Sofia had seen their black bows with her own eyes. They had taken her on one of those ships, imprisoned her in its belly, and bought her here. Unadulterated hate welled in her heart like water during a flash flood. She was sure that if she had a dagger to hand right at that moment she would have plunged it in to his heart as if he were a sacrificial calf. In fact, she began to fantasise about it.

Agamemnon struck Hector twice more with the staff before the captive's gaze finally dropped, only to spit blood out of his mouth and on to the floor. The thick drops exploded on the flagstones like a volcano raining fire and brimstone.

"No such luck for you Prince – death would be too easy. You are our bargaining tool ... your incompetent father would rather see Troy's walls crumble than lose his pride and joy! If the walls crumble before, Priam will pay a handsome price in gold for his precious first-born son! Your army will fight for me, whatever happens"

"The Trojans will never fight for you, my body will be dust and my sprit will wander blind, deaf and dumb through the underworld before I allow it." Hector growled.

"If that is your wish, I will personally oversee that it is carried out!" Agamemnon laughed. So did the others, probably just to humour their leader.

"I do not fear death and I do not fear my enemies!"

"Such a brave words. We will see guards, shall we not, how far his bravery extends? You only have my permission to disfigure him as he is no good to us dead, not at the moment anyway. Make sure you break his spirit and some crack bones before sunset!"

Agamemnon raised his staff to his waiting guards, in signal for them to start carrying out his orders.

But a lady sashayed out from behind them before they could respond. She was an astonishingly beautiful sight, dressed grandly in a light, sophisticated robe, a rich embroidered blue that draped over her shoulders and part of her head. It wafted softly in the air as she passed. Her brown-blonde hair was ornately braided, adorned with a golden diadem and her sharp features were slightly lined with experience and affluence. Sofia had never seen such a magnificent woman in her life; she was transfixed and at the same time she felt so inferior.

"Agamemnon, dear husband ... do you have to damage this handsome specimen so?"

She pouted and spoke softly, trying to manipulate her spouse. Agamemnon said nothing. In response to her partner's silence, she approached Hector as overconfidently as her husband had.

"There would be so many women of the court who would pay highly to have this infamous warrior at their disposal in their chamber." She said as she examined Hectors form, narrowing her eyes as if she was picking out a bracelet at the market.

This amused Agamemnon:

"Yes, my dear and I also do not doubt that a few men in my army would pay highly to have him be of service to them in their bedrooms too! Women of the court you say?! Perhaps you, Clytemnestra?"

His wife shot him a furious glare:

"You take who you please as a lover, why can't I?!"

"He will not be ready for that my love, at the moment he would kill you with his bare hands rather than caress you with them. He needs to be pacified first; perhaps I will have him castrated. But then you would not lust for him, would you my dear?"

A low ripple of merriment surged about the crowd. Clytemnestra pouted again.

"Don't you dare! There would be no fun in having Hector attend my bed without all his ... masculine intensity"

She drew herself closer to her object of desire, flaunting her ability to do so and trying to infuriate her husband in the process. She stood on her toes, pressing her lightly-covered breasts up against his broad chest seductively, attempting to brush her pink lips against his. Hector, who was glaring at her with all the distain he had shown her husband, turned his face to the side suddenly, nostrils still flaring and eyes momentarily closing in revulsion. So as not to admit defeat she purred in his ear instead. Hera herself could not be more persuasive.

"I hear it has been a while since you have had a real woman in your bed ... would you not like to come to my chamber one night, I am skilled at pleasuring a man, so much more than these slave girls you are used to ..."

Her voice tinkled like wind chimes, full of promise. She stroked the inside of his left thigh with her nimble fingertips as she made her proposal, waiting for a non-verbal reaction to betray him. But Hector's manhood did not stir. The assembled crowd roared in laughter at her. She stood there dejectedly for a moment, arms limp at her sides. She looked as if she was either about to cry or throw a tantrum – but instead she decided to take her humiliation out on Hector. She gently pressed her body against his again and bought her slender hand up to his face. But this time she spitefully pulled her long fingernails deeply down his left cheek in spite, causing little channels of blood. Hector closed his eyes again, drawing his breath through his teeth. The burning, throbbing sensation emanating from his cheekbone to his chin was more uncomfortable than any blow he had received from her husband.

"Perhaps you are right ... Once he accepts his fate and learns some respect he will be invited to my bed."

Clytemnestra waved her delicate hand dismissively as she walked away, and stood back in the ranks of the crowd, between a guard and another man - the sixth member of the party. He stared at Clytemnestra with as much loathing as Hector had. He stood; thick muscley legs planted wide apart, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he quietly watching proceeding with cold eyes. He had not joined in with the merriment as the others had; he just silently raised a one blonde eyebrow. He was the biggest man Sofia had possibly ever seen, like a fabled giant. She noticed how strikingly similar this man and Hector were in manner – both arrogant and aloof but dignified like all aristocrats were supposed to be. And he must have been an aristocrat judging by his grand armour, Sofia thought. It was so shiny and bronze that the world reflected in it took on a wonderfully golden hue.

"Clytemnestra, do not take his rejection to heart! Hector was disgustingly faithful to his wife before her death and rumour has it he has not lain with a woman since!"

Wife? Death? Agamemnon's anecdote drew Sofia's gaze away from the giant and concentrated her attention back to Hectors torment.

"You know, your abstinence is a fault, Hector. Perhaps if you had a physical release you would not be so stupidly violent. Or perhaps it is just lack of virility – how your wife ever endured that I will never know." Taunted Agamemnon

"Leave my wife out of this!" Hector shouted suddenly, becoming agitated at the deeply personal comments that were being bandied about as gossip.

"Ah yes .... the lovely Andromanche, who could forget such a fine woman? Compliments on you wife Hector but sorry to hear of your sad loss. However, it was said that she had a voracious appetite and had lain with many men, Greek and Trojan, whilst you busied yourself with politics and war. Rumour has it your unborn son was not from your loins and that their tragic deaths were punishment from the gods at her wantonness ...."

Agamemnon was clever, sensing that his fictional comments would injure Hector more than any physical punishment he could issue forth. The last straw, Hector went ballistic, struggling in the manacles again so violently that dust expelled in small clouds from the stone wall where the fixture bolts were becoming loose.

"Guards!"

Agamemnon raised his staff once more, signalling their moment to beat the restrained Prince. The dull thud of skin against skin filled the cell, like a butcher kneading salt into his meat. The hurt Sofia was witnessing in Hectors eyes was not being caused by physical blows. Sofia closed her eyes shut tight, nauseous with rage and pity. Suddenly everything made sense .... Oh Hector .... Her legs shook with adrenaline. Finally she could bear it no longer. Her wolf cub-like bravery was about to get her into trouble once more ....

What happened next was a blur. She flew off the bench like a banshee, attempting to pull one of the guards from Hector

"Leave him alone, he has had enough!" she screamed, tugging at arm of a guard using the full weight of her body.

Unfortunately this did not have great effect, the laws of physics meaning that her size could not displace the mass of the guard. He looked down at her in amusement, unmoved as she still tugged with all her might, as if she was trying to uproot a tree with her bare hands.

"Well what have we here?" the guard exclaimed "He needs a woman to fight his battles!"

He slapped Sofia in the face, bloodying her mouth and knocking her to the floor. She landed on her back with her forearms supporting the top half her sprawled body. Dazed and momentarily blinded, she only started to fight back when she could feel somebody grab her ankles. She kicked hard, whimpering and trying to inch herself away backwards from the assailant who was attempting to drag her towards him. As her eyes focussed again she could see the other guard standing over her, loosening his armour and then robe.

"I'll shut that wench up!" he said with a throaty cackle.

Immobile with panic, she could feel that his friend who held her legs was now moving around to pin down her torso and arms. A hand, as large as a plate was placed around her mouth to stifle her screams. Her robe was being pushed up over her knees as her legs still kicked. She was about to be raped.

"Stop! Let loose you play thing! She is to remain pure and untouched ... a gift for my brother Menelaus, a concubine for his palace. He will force the determination from her soon enough ..." Agamemnon ordered, halting the appalling proceedings just in time.

They set her free, grudgingly. Blinking hard, she sat up on the floor and systematically rubbed each wrist, still stinging from the guard's grasp.

"The girl is right Agamemnon, Hector has had enough, you said yourself that he is no good to you dead." The giant suddenly spoke.

Sofia thought it an almost ill-mannered and over-firm way to speak to a king. Agamemnon paused and thought for a minute, his cruel eyes flickering ... but then he hesitantly signalled for Hectors release. As the manacles were unlocked, the Prince dropped to the ground like dead weight, putting his hands out just in time to buffer his fall. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose, his eyes transfixed on the floor beneath as if he wanted to rip through it with his fingernails. As Hector crouched there, the visitors began to leave the cell, disappointed that the show was over.

As the door clunked shut once more, Hector let out a loud yell, an outlet for his pain and suppressed rage that echoed around the cell. It bounced off the walls, invading every living thing.

13


	5. An Unlikely Union 5: Contempt Breeds Fam...

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: Wow, I'm really churning these chapters out, aren't I?! I created this one pretty quickly and I haven't had that much time to check it so I hope it's okay. It certainly makes my heart lurch anyway so I hope you'll like it! I also hope it answers a few questions I had about the last chapter. _

_Regarding the last chapter (4) I thought I made it obvious that Andromache was faithful to Hector, that was my intention (I described Agamemnon's comments as 'fictional' ). But I guess I couldn't have made it obvious as I had quite a few comments about it. Sorry! I also had a comment of time scale. I think I did write that the guards came into the cell four days after Hector's arrival but I guess I should have made more of that, too. Hope you are all not getting confused. It will all unravel as the story does, I promise._

_Anyway, hope you enjoy Chapter 5 ... keep the reviews up, please guys!_

5. Contempt Breeds Familiarity

Blood dripped. Sofia raised her hand to her face absentmindedly to blot the bleeding with her fingertips. Around the cut, her bottom lip was swollen an angry crimson. Hector registered the drops plummet to the floor and looked at the source, his eyes wide as if he couldn't quite believe that she wasn't unbreakable. Sofia face was blank; she was without sensation, as if the adrenaline created by her encounter with the guards had erased everything.

She had somehow managed to calm Hector down since the visitors had left a few minutes before. Perhaps she had managed to calm him down a little too easily. He had even allowed her to help him off the floor and onto the bench.

Perhaps things were progressing, a forced allegiance.

But now, as he watched her blood slowly and intermittently drip, his rage quickly reformed like angry storm clouds that can gather so unexpectedly. His eyes blackened again, his nose wrinkled. His whole body seemed to shudder with anger.

"With the gods as my witness, if I ever taste freedom again I will execute them, ALL OF THEM! The guards, Agamemnon, his bitch of a wife ... and that ... that blond haired ogre! I will hunt them down like DOGS!" He shouted, banging his fist violently on the wooden slats.

His pounding fist shook the wood and Sofia who was sat next to him. One slat had cracked audibly under Hectors wrath. She recoiled.

"Hector ... please. You are scaring me." She pleaded feebly.

Her tiny voice roused him from his rage, his face remorsefully softened.

"Who ... who was that giant?" She thought out loud in a whisper.

"Achilles, of the Myrmidons. He's the reason I am here. We fought a duel. I lost." He answered sternly.

"Achilles?! They say he is killing machine!" Much like they say of Hector she secretly thought.

"He is .... all he cares for is fame and glory."

"So why did he not vanquish you there and then during your duel? There must be immeasurable fame and glory to be had in killing Prince Hector of Troy, surely?"

"I don't know. By all rights I should be dead. Achilles desires revenge ... I killed his cousin Patroclus in battle; I slit his throat like a lamb. I thought it was Achilles ... he was wearing his cousin's armour ... he was just a boy".

Hector remembered the moment as 'Achilles' was unmasked on the battlefield, his crested bronze helmet pulled from the limp head. A low whisper spread around the disbelieving crowd that had gathered, a mix of Trojans and Greeks, all in unspoken truce as they thought unbeatable Achilles had been slain. The triumph Hector had felt soon turned to excruciating guilt as who he saw before him was a boy of about seventeen years old, not an experienced warrior as expected. The boy was still alive, his eyes wide with horror, horror that he could feel his life ebb away. He stared at the face of his slayer - Hector had caught the boy's vulnerable throat with his sword during the conflict, not quite decapitating him. Now the boy struggled for breath and as he lay there at Hectors feet, a gurgling noise emitting as air escaped from his severed windpipe. He could not be saved. Hector had no choice but to finish him off, to put him out of his misery. He drove his sword into the boy's chest in mercy, immediately releasing him from his pain.

"But today it looked as if Achilles despises Agamemnon more than he does you." Sofia shrewdly noted.

Hector was still traumatised by the terrible memory of Patroclus' decline. As a result he spoke a little too brusquely to Sofia:

"What does a village girl like you know of politics?"

Sofia frowned at him, belittled. But she persisted ... there was light at the end of the tunnel when it came to Hector, she could feel it. She tried to act indifferent to his comments:

"My Papa had his theories. He knew the war was not just caused by your brother Paris stealing lady Helen from Sparta. It was an excuse to wage war. Agamemnon requires you to live as you are his link to the Trojan army - and the prosperous copper trading routes controlled by Troy - am I right? But Achilles has no reason to want you to survive ... I mean, why did he speak out to stop the guards from beating you to death?"

"I'm impressed! You know your politics better than some of my father's advisors!"

Sofia gave a little victorious smile at his praise. The light at the end of the tunnel was in view. Distant, but in view nonetheless.

Hector continued:

"It is no secret that Achilles loathes Agamemnon ... perhaps there is more dissention in the Greek ranks than I first realised. I have a strange feeling in my gut that Achilles will have a larger part to play in my fate. But I also feel I will be dead before the week is out, whatever happens."

Her smile dropped as she listened to his defeatism:

"Don't say that ...your fate is not yet set in stone, Hector...."

"And yours is?"

"Yes. I am to be a concubine for King Menelaus; A concubine until he grows tired of me, anyway.... did you not hear what Agamemnon said? Or did they box your ears too hard?! " She was angry at him, as if he was ignorant to her situation.

She had spoken a little too brusquely, too. But he didn't take the bait, not yet.

"I heard. You seem to have accepted your fate easily." He answered calmly.

"So have you! What has happened to that stubborn determination you so readily displayed a few days ago?!"

Now he took the bait, voiced raised.

"And where is your idiotic bravery that has irritated me for the last four days?"

His voice carried round the cell, still echoing moments after the prisoners fell silent. Their bickering halted, the both suddenly realised how ludicrous it was to argue with each other - _they_ were not enemies after all. Both stared into space for a few moments, slightly embarrassed. But then Sofia spoke, breaking the inertia

"What Agamemnon said ...about your wife ...." She began to ask, the question continually played on her mind. She had to know.

"_How dare _that swine drag her name around in the dirt like that? Those lies! She was a good woman, everything a man could want. I know she was faithful. That bastard!" Hector raised his voice again as he recalled what Agamemnon had said. Sofia began to wish that she hadn't reminded him.

Hector could picture his wife Andromache as he talked of her, as if she were standing right there, smiling at him. It had been an arranged marriage – something that he was hesitant about at first. At the time, his mind was full of horses, chariot races, sword training and pretty girls. But he was told in no uncertain terms that he _must_ marry to improve relations and ultimately produce an heir. His father had sat him down one evening after dinner to tell him that they had the perfect girl in mind. The deal had been set up, all Hector had to do was meet her ... and to please be polite.

He had travelled for days to Thebe, tired and irritable. Feeling daunted as he was introduced to the Theban court, he had expected some dumpy, dim-witted girl to be presented to him. But the woman who had greeted him was nothing of the sort. She was quite tall and slim which gave her an awkward look. She was obviously nervous - her large brown eyes did not dare look at him and she could not stop fidgeting her feet, she tapped on the polished floor continuously. At that moment, all Hector wanted to do was hold her in his arms and take care of her.

Although initially shy, Andromache had settled into life at Troy well. They would spend most evenings together, walking in the gardens or talking to the early hours in their chamber. She would encourage him to lay his head on her lap, then she would stroke his hair gently whilst he told her all about his day. She did not conceive quickly, although not through the lack of trying - they had, in fact, tried at every opportune moment. But Hector was required to leave Troy's shores often, in the beginning to create bonds with other nations, later to fight them. He remembered how happy they both were when they discovered she was with child. Andromache cried with joy; she wanted nothing more than to produce him an heir. Hector, the proud father, did not mind if it was a boy or a girl, he was just overwhelmed with love and that they had succeeded in creating a precious life between them.

"What happened to her Hector? Did the Greeks kill her?"

He did not look up at her, his eyes still glazed:

"No. No, I guess she was fortunate in that way ... and fortunate enough not to see these dark days." He sighed despondently.

Sofia looked puzzled at his mysterious answer but did not want to push the matter. He rubbed his face with both hands, like he often did, finding it difficult to explain. . But after the events that had just unfolded he knew he owed it to her.

"She ... Andromanche - she died all but a year ago. Complications in childbirth. My son, our first born, died also. He ... he came too early. She lost a lot of blood. They said the stress of war affected her so ..."

He stumbled over his words then it seemed as if he could not physically talk any longer. As his voice trailed off, Sofia was stunned into silence.

He could also remember that moment. He could still hear her screams as she endured early labour. She sounded so frightened and alone. He wanted to be with her, to comfort his beloved wife but he was not allowed into the birthing room. He was told it was not a man's place.

The screams stopped and a baby did not cry.

Sofia watched Hector trying to distract himself, studying his hands, the knuckles scraped raw. He hid any emotion well, always taught that emotion meant weakness. Sofia sighed, her heart heavy. Agamemnon was clever and wicked; he knew how to hurt Hector with lies.

All the pieces fell into place ... why he had been so angry, so volatile. It was grief. Hector's heart had been broken.

"I am so sorry. I can see that you loved her very much ...."

Hector ruefully nodded and smiled sadly in answer. She had the sudden urge to take his hand, to hold it in her own. She didn't know why. But before she could act on it, he suddenly looked up at her face, studying her injuries old and fresh.

"Did they badly injure you? Your mouth looks very sore."

She touched the cut on her bottom lip again as she thought about it. It had stopped bleeding and had begun to scab over. She couldn't tell if Hector was truly concerned or he was just trying to change the subject.

"Superficial. I can't feel a thing any longer; I am numb to it all." Sofia sighed wearily.

"I don't believe that, I can see it in your eyes ..."

His observation made Sofia's heart inexplicably jolt. She didn't realise he had paid so much attention. She brushed it off as a flippant comment and prayed that she wasn't blushing.

"I hope I did not hurt you the other day ... when I grabbed you like that...."

He lifted his hand to her neck to demonstrate. His fingers were so close they accidentally brushed her skin. Registering this, he tucked his hand away again, a little embarrassed. But his touch made Sofia smile.

"You must think I am a beast ...." He continued.

"I think you are many things, Hector but I do not think you are a beast! I am fine. "

"I have never struck a woman before. I abhor the idea of it." He meant it. Sofia could tell. His face looked so stern as he thought about it.

"Are you trying to apologise Lord Hector?" she teased.

"No ... well yes." He stuttered. He obviously could not tell if she was jesting or not.

She finally reached over and took his hand in hers. It was a bold move. His warm, rough palm flinched slightly as she touched it, not used to familiarity. But then it relaxed into hers. Her hand looked so small and her skin so pale against his - and she noticed that his thumbnail seemed like a large disc compared to hers.

"Apology accepted"

"Thank you for trying to help me today." How humble he seemed. "... It was stupid but brave." he then added suddenly with a roguish smile.

"Stupid _and_ brave? I guess that we have more in common that we first thought!" Sofia laughed.

He smiled and shook his head in mock disbelief.

They sat for a long while in the stillness. Their hands were still connected, lying on his lap comfortably.

The cell grew dark as night descended. Sofia could hear Hector breathing, it sounded a little more laboured than usual - his torso would be black and blue in the morning thanks to those guards. Then the pattern of his breathing changed slightly, deeper, slower. He appeared to be falling asleep where he sat, back against the wall.

"She is waiting for you, your wife. She waits for you in the next life. Make her proud." Sofia whispered.

He squeezed her hand in response.

- -0- -

Morning sunlight illuminated the cell, giving it a fresh appearance in the way that a wave licking on the shore makes the pebbles shiny. Hector was not yet awake. Sofia was not surprised. He had slept fitfully the night before, limbs occasionally jerking, features contorting - probably suffering nightmares. He had woken her once or twice throughout the night shouting out in indiscernible anguish, talking in his sleep.

What did he dream of? His mind seemed like a maze. Unable to sleep herself, her own mind was restless – somehow, occupying her mind with Hector saved the agony of comprehending her own future. Hector was sort of half-sat, half-slumped in the opposite corner of the bench, but he didn't appear to be physically uncomfortable. The muscular chest slowly rose and fell, his breaths deep. But he was not at rest. The frown never left his brow, even when he was sleeping.

Hector - at first Sofia thought him to be an arrogant bully ... but now ... she realised he was a troubled soul. He had held her hand last night as if he believed she could anchor him to conviction. She deliberated over some of the things he had said ... he had shown kindness like he had never displayed before.

Sofia hoped this change in him wasn't a sign that the Greeks were slowly breaking his resolve. She also hoped he had heard what she had whispered, about making his wife proud. It was a key to keeping him strong. And if he diminished, she would too.

How could she be so dependant on him, a distant man whom she hardly knew?

Lone footsteps approached, they sounded certain and large. The door swung open. Hector awoke with a jolt at the sudden noise, sitting up immediately, bleary-eyed.

It was Achilles.


	6. An Unlikely Union 6: A Spark of Hope, a ...

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: Again thanks loads for all the feedback, keep it coming! This is part 6 .... lots of dialogue in this one I'm afraid which I don't think is my strong point. Not sure if I like this chapter actually but there you go - didn't want to spoil it by over-writing it!_

_I am going on holiday for a week on Saturday so just to let you know Chapter 7 won't be ready until after I come back ... but I promise I will post it as soon as I return! I plan to do lots of work on this fic whilst I am away so hopefully it will be a good chapter._

_Take care until next Saturday .... x_

6. A Spark of Hope, A Blaze of Distrust

"Look at you prince Hector. Nothing more than a scruffy wretch."

Achilles stood in the doorway for a moment eyeing his rival, then made his arrogant approach. He stood over Hector, who still slouched on the bench, as if to enhance his power. Not that he needed to – everything about him was intimidating, including his reputation.

Sofia had heard almost as much about him as she had Hector. Rather than being praised as a hero like Hector, Achilles seemed more mysterious. It was rumoured he was half mortal, the son of sea goddess Thetis and that he was born to be a killing machine, a lord of war. Perhaps he wasn't as large as Sofia had first thought. She could now see that he was no taller then Hector - but his arms were thicker and his chest broader ... if that was possible. They must have been equally matched in battle, she thought.

Strange how they were similar in their well-bred, proud manner. But at that moment, as Achilles stood hostile in front of Hector, they looked so different – Achilles a glowing example of masculine health in his splendid armour and Hector dirty and bruised, barely clothed in a ragged robe.

Achilles clutched a sword in his right hand, perhaps prepared if Hector tried to attack. He held the long, sharp shaft of bronze lazily down his side. Sofia daren't look up and transfixed her eyes at his massive chest, shielded by his shiny breastplate, expertly moulded to the shape of his body. She could see her own reflection in it, her face filthy, her lip swollen red and crusty with blood, her eyes wide with alarm. For a moment she did not even recognise herself. She did not recognise the dirty, dishevelled creature staring back.

Hector appeared to be uninterested; He did not feel Achilles' visit a special enough occasion to warrant standing. He sighed, crossed his arms and looked at him tiresomely.

"Why are damning me with your presence, Achilles?"

"Why, I have come to see my favourite captive of course, come to see whether he will get on his knees and plead for his life."

"That will never happen as long as I draw breath, you ass!" Hector spat, his body tensing and his eyes turning black with resentment.

"I would be pleased to personally oversee halting it ..." Achilles lifted the sword and held the very point forebodingly close to Hectors throat, looking down the shaft at his target. Hector did not flinch, seemingly unthreatened. He certainly had nerves of steel. And the guts to match. He glared at Achilles.

"You should have finished me on the battlefield. I hope pity did not stay your hand because as soon as I have the chance I will lop off your head and set it on a pole at the Scaean Gates."

Achilles untensed his sword arm and let it rest by his side again. Arrogantly amused by Hectors threat, he threw his head back and laughed, his long blond hair shaking. The very tip of the sword dragged on the flagstones as he moved, causing musical friction.

"Before or after I chop off all your limps and feed them to the lions whilst you watch? I will gladly do it for Patroclus."

Hector frowned and shifted uncomfortably; he knew he deserved to be slain in revenge for killing Patroclus. If anyone had slaughtered his younger brother Paris in that disregarding way, he would not stop until he had sought his revenge.

"I killed him because I thought it was you. He wore your armour, fought like you. I would not have engaged the boy in battle otherwise. Even your men thought it was you." He explained penitently.

Achilles was unmoved by Hectors confession. He raised his eyebrow again almost in disgust, just like he did at Agamemnon's wife Clytemnestra. His hand automatically tightened around the hilt of the sword.

"So they have told me. I had taught him the art of battle but he was not ready."

Achilles thought about his cousin: young, enthusiastic but naïve and perhaps a little overconfident – just as Achilles had been at his age. He was eager to fight for Greece as soon as their black-sailed ship had beached on Trojan shores. But Achilles had ordered his cousin to stay with the ships - he wanted to ensure his safety but Patroclus must have assumed it was a slur on his sword-skills. He must have disguised himself as Achilles in order to kill Hector, to prove his worth.

Hector sensed his feelings of regret:

"Patroclus was a commendable opponent. You taught him well. He had me in a tight spot a few times ..."

"You are not worthy to speak his name Hector, you are not even worthy to kiss his feet!"

Achilles' shout echoed around the cell, his normally stern face was visibly upset, his eyebrows gathering to the bridge of his nose in anger. He found it disrespectful that Hector, a man that was no better than a toad in a cave dare mention his dear cousin's name.

Hector sighed again at Achilles' antagonising and uncrossed his arms, rolling his dark eyes in tedium:

"Enough Achilles. Why are you here?"

"To prepare you."

"For what?" Hector shrugged at the riddle-like answer. He could not have predicted what was to follow.

"Your escape." Achilles answered, matter-of-factly.

"_Escape!_ You truly are as mad as they say!"

Hectors black eyes looked at Achilles incredulously, wide with surprise. He chuckled to himself, really believing that Achilles was either crazy or teasing – perhaps both. He ceased slouching and sat up properly, grasping the edge of the bench with his large hands and leaning forward slightly in curiosity. Sofia on the other hand almost threw off her submissive disguise and leaped to her feet in sheer surprise ... but she somehow managed to keep her cool head, for the moment anyway.

Achilles looked even more irritated at Hectors disbelieving reaction:

"Careful Hector or I will leave you in here to rot."

Hector slouched back down, adopting his apathetic stance again:

"Explain yourself Achilles. This banter is tiresome."

"Two nights from now there will be a celebratory banquet at the barracks - to celebrate Agamemnon's precious royal prisoner and how you will ultimately win the war for us. He has promised the men an orgy of drink and women ... most of the guards will be there, drunk and busying themselves with slave girls. These cells will be undermanned, staffed by inexperienced young guards that can be easily overwhelmed."

"That's all well and good but I cannot rip through metal and stone with my bare hands!" Hector exclaimed as if he was trying to rubbish Achilles detailed plans.

"When they deliver some food to you in the morning, you will find a key hidden in a lump of bread. These doors can be opened from the inside. When you find your way out of the cell block, do not linger. It will be pitch black but you should be able to make out some trees to your right - they will provide you with adequate cover. Run deep into the forest and continue due north for about a mile - do not stray. You should come to a clearing where there will be a horse and some weapons waiting for you. Head northwest. A day's ride away is a small port-town where you will be able to get lodgings and charter a ship back to Troy. You will obviously have to keep your identity secret; pretend to be Greek. The odds of you making it aren't good – the guards will be on your tail quicker than the wind. But you are cunning enough to evade them I think, if only for a while."

Achilles had obviously put a lot of thought and effort into his industrious escape plan.

"Why would you help me, Achilles?"

Hector was understandably wary but Achilles had expected that question from the beginning.

"Agamemnon has disrespected me for the last time; I wish to wipe that inane grin off his fat face. Your escape would really dampen that ego of his."

Hector narrowed his eyes at Achilles as if he was trying to look through his soul, searching for his real motives.

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't. But you don't have a lot of choice. Look Hector, I have no quarrel with you or the Trojan people. I came into this war for glory and fame only; to ensure my name lasts thousands of years. But something in my life - in me - has changed. Perhaps I would rather be known as Achilles the merciful rather than merciless."

Hector paused and thought for a moment, eyes still narrow. He hadn't believed a word of what Achilles had just said. A diligent assassin such as him merciful? It was not possible. But he was right, Hector had no choice. He either had to take a chance and unite with Achilles, be used as a pawn in his plans against Agamemnon or stay trapped in the cell .... Either way he was bound to perish.

"Two conditions Achilles."

"You are not exactly in a position to ask me for favours, Hector! ....." Achilles chuckled in disbelief, mocking this foul, indignant creature slouching disrespectfully before him.

Undaunted, Hector continued:

"One. You supply me with some at least half-decent garments. I will not get very far as an escaped prisoner looking like one."

Achilles rubbed his chiselled jaw with his left hand as he thought about it:

"Fair point. I can smell you from the other end of the corridor. And the second?"

"The girl comes with me." He said firmly. It was more of a statement rather than a request.

Sofia couldn't believe her ears. Hector wanted her to go with him! What? Why? How? She felt suddenly overwhelmed with a myriad of different emotions: gratitude, confusion, excitement, fondness, fright .... her heart thumped so fiercely in her chest it was like it was trying to escape from her ribcage. The fast-flowing blood made her dizzy, rushing to her head and causing a strange headache. Was she about to faint? She concentrated on breathing deeply so that her feelings did not betray her calm façade.

Achilles found Hectors loyalty hilarious ... why was he so protective of such an inconsequential slave girl?

"Lord Hector! Who would have thought it! Thinking from between your legs rather

than between your ears! I didn't think you of all men would be a fool over a pretty face!" He laughed.

Hector however, was not amused:

"I will not leave her fate or body in the hands of Menelaus, even you must understand that." He answered sternly.

Achilles could see his point. There were rumours that Menelaus had a thing for torture and gained sexual gratification from restraining his women, raping them, putting strange objects inside them, half asphyxiating them. He had slapped one of his regular girls in the face so hard all her front teeth were missing. Achilles had discovered her on clear night on the battlements of the palace, ready to throw herself off in despair. Achilles had managed to talk her down but she died a few weeks later anyway, in mysterious circumstances. Hector had also witnessed first hand Menelaus' disregard for women. A man of no morals, he would share his marital bed with two or more women whilst his wife resided in the room next door. He would force those girls to perform unspeakable acts whilst his young wife Helen listened. No wonder Helen had literally jumped at the chance to escape to Troy with Paris. Sofia did not know of these stories - Hector had purposefully kept them from her. He did not want to or see the need in alarming her any further.

"Perhaps the Trojans are not as barbaric as we Greeks like the think. How very chivalrous of you Hector ... I just hope the wench is worth it! I suppose it will rile that sack of wine even more to lose the special gift for his brother ... although she will slow you down ...." Achilles added thoughtfully.

"It's a chance I'm prepared to take." Hector was adamant.

"So be it. I'm expecting you to ask for the moon on a stick next! Well, you have two days. I can keep Agamemnon and his guards away until then easily enough. My advice to you is to conserve your energy and have that wench tend to your wounds; I guess she owes it to you now! Two days Hector ... two days ..."


	7. An Unlikely Union 7: The Strangest Day

An Unlikely Union 

_Quick Comment: Hi everyone, back from holiday now! This is Chapter 7, the longest so far! Sorry about that just try to keep with it ... I tried to design it as if you are reading fragments of memories - Sofia's memories of what happened that day. It's also supposed to reciprocate so that it ends where it started. I hope it works. (I also haven't had a lot of time to check it so am worried it doesn't 'flow') Reviews please! _

7. The Strangest Day

Sofia couldn't sleep. She listened to the crackle of the dying fire and the singing of nearby crickets as she studied the darkness of her own eyelids, watching strange flashing shapes pass back and forth. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the last 24 hours - it had been the strangest day she could remember. She replayed events over and over in her head, trying in vain to make sense of them, her stomach continuously churning.

--0--

Achilles plan had gone without mishap so far. The key was indeed concealed neatly within some bread served as a breakfast meal. New clothes were also delivered, wrapped in parchment and string. Sofia was given what must have been considered a plain gown but in truth, it was the most luxurious she had ever worn in her life. Hector wore a blue woollen skirt and vest outfit, possibility one of Achilles' own. Sure, he was wearing Greek clothes but he still did not look very Greek, not with his black eyes and dark curly hair. He didn't even speak like a Greek ... mind you Sofia thought that she would stick out like a sore thumb equally as much with her pale colouring ...oh well; they would cross that particular bridge when they came to it. The glorious anticipation of freedom far overwhelmed any feelings of doubt at that moment. They were also both provided with itchy hooded cloaks, which would help disguise them from steely glances, at least for a while anyway.

A couple of hours after night fall, Hector cautiously slipped the key into the lock and slowly turned it, closing his eyes for a second as if he was praying for it to work in silence. However, the mechanism emitted a defiant dull clunk, just like it always did. Hector became very still, his ear to the door, warily listening to the outside in case the slight noise had alerted any unwanted attention to their imminent escape. But no-one came. Hector pushed the door open a crack and the fresh air caressed his face like a sweet kiss. The corridor was empty. He slipped out of the door and beckoned for Sofia to follow. The grand party, the orgy of drink and women, could be heard in the distance, the light wind sometimes carrying the sound of merriment, lights flickering. Only two juvenile guards seemed to be guarding the entire block. Both were at the entrance - swigging on ceramic mugs of mead, back to the corridor entrance and facing the direction of the barracks, both distracted by the sound of laughter and the smell of sin as they grumbled to each other about having to work on such an auspicious night.

Hector easily dealt with them, sneaking up behind them, silently, skilfully snapping their necks as if they were nothing more than chickens – an assassin; one arm round the chest, the other jerking their heads suddenly. Both slumped on the floor, never to tell the tale of their brush with the Prince of Troy.

Sofia didn't know how her legs had carried her all the way to the edge of the forest, sheer panic she guessed. She ran like she had never run before as if her legs were full of air. Everything from thereon in was a blur to her. She recalled they managed to navigate to the forest clearing Achilles had mentioned via an overgrown path that seemingly hadn't been in use for a number of years. Tangled brambles scratched at her ankles, something which seemly did not affect Hectors manly strides. Neither spoke during this crucial part of their escape, communicating only through urgent eye gestures, not daring to speak in case their voices alerted attention. Further into the forest, it was frighteningly almost pitch black. Sofia's wide pupils could only make out the odd branch just in time to duck under of step over, her only guide Hectors hand which grasped hers with vigour. At that moment, she prayed that he would never let go.

--0--

Hector approached the horse waiting for them in the clearing with caution. It looked anxious, its huge eyelashes and watery eyes not even blinking at the strangers approaching, watching closely. It almost reared it's front legs up a couple of times, trying to loosen itself from it's tether but Hector managed to calm it, approaching cautiously and slowly from the side, offering out his hand in friendly gesture. The horse sniffed his fingers with its large fleshy nostrils, then lowered it head and gaze, deciding that he was a trustworthy passenger. Hector stroked the long brown nose soothingly, making a 'shushing' noise with his mouth as the horse whinnied in acceptance.

"He's a handsome colt, don't you think?" He whispered to Sofia, his face beaming.

Sofia had never seen him so passionate about something - his eyes literally shone as he petted the horse. She could tell that he was quite the equestrian.

"Here ..." he said softly taking her hand in his and guiding it over the horses nose:

"... you have to make friends with him too, He'll be carrying the both of us ..."

Somehow Sofia wasn't that concerned about the horse with Hector standing astride behind her, holding her hand like that.

But then Hector suddenly stood deadly still, dropping his grip on her hand, alert and listening to the night air. His keen ears could obviously hear something approaching in the bushes. Sofia's heart raced ... with the way Hector was acting she knew danger was imminent

He slowly stooped to ground where he stood, towards a glint of bronze at the colt's feet.

"Catch ... "he tossed her something which she automatically captured between her palms. It was a sheathed dagger, ornately decorated with swirly engravings and red rubies the colour of blood. She looked from the dagger to Hector dubiously. What was she meant to do with this exactly?

"Hide behind those trees other there! They may think that only I'm here ....." He ordered directly. How his mind managed to work so well under pressure she would never know. But she guessed he had been in more terrible situations with more terrible odds than this particular one.

"Who may ...?" She began to ask, confused.

"Who do you think?! GO!" Hector ordered his eyes wide full of urgency.

He positioned himself in the middle of the clearing, legs apart, sword at the ready for an attack. Sofia had managed to hide herself behind a tree .... just as she heard yells and the chinking of bronze – sword fighting. She peeped out curiously from behind the thick trunk, grasping its flaky exterior tight with her fingers in fright. She watched alarmed at Hector fight off the three soldiers that had tumbled out of the bushes.

Hector moved fluidly, confidently, blocking blows, attacking. One man was already on the ground, blood gushing from a large opening in his abdomen, the intestines spilling out, staining the undergrowth.

As Hector was struggling with another, Sofia noticed the third soldier approach him like a stalking tiger from behind, a bid to attack him unawares ....

Without giving a second thought to the consequences, Sofia charged out from her hiding place and plunged her dagger in the left hand side of the man's back, just as Hector finally smote the other adversary, mercilessly decapitating him with his sharp bronze sword.

The blade of Sofia's dagger slid into the soldier's body without resistance like a warm knife in soft butter. It must have pierced his heart from behind, killing him instantly. He crumpled and dropped on the ground just as Hector had turned his torso to see what was causing the commotion behind him.

The stabbed man dropped at Hectors feet, his lolling head falling to rest on the legs of the headless body of the soldier Hector had just defeated.

The clearing was silent once more.

Both Hector and Sofia were still for a moment - dumbfounded with what had just happened and the speed at which it had all transpired.

Hector stared at the stabbed soldier and then to Sofia in surprise at her courageousness ... Sofia looked at her victim and then to Hector for the very same reason. She was visibly shaken by the fight, her limbs quaking, and her blue eyes wide as she watched Hector trying to calm the colt once more. The sight and sound of the fight had distressed the horse almost as much as it had Sofia.

"Come, we must ride now if we have any chance of getting away ...."

Hector gathered the leather reigns over the horses shoulder, sheathed his sword then bent to remove the dagger from the guard's back, wiping it clean on his cloak. He attempted to hand it back to Sofia. She stared at it silently as she stood there, arms loosely at her side, still in shock. She did not want to hold such a horrid agent of death ever again. In response, Hector took her hand and led her to the horse, tucking the dagger in the belt of her robe for her.

There was no time for lingering. He lifted Sofia onto the horse with ease and positioned himself behind her, arms around the sides of her waist, chest against her back. He took the reigns and kicked the colt sharply in the sinewy stomach with his heels, encouraging the horse to trot and then run.

--0--

They had been riding for a least half an hour when Hector pulled on the horses' reigns, halting him suddenly. He could feel that Sofia's shock was subsiding and realisation had just hit her like a stone from a sling.

He could feel her body shaking against his chest as she sobbed almost hysterically.

He could feel the odd stray tear land on his hands as he held the reigns tightly, guiding the responsive horse.

"Sofia, do not fret ..." He pressed his face closer to her and spoke gently into her hair as he dropped the reigns and took both of her hands gently in his.

"...I ... I killed him ..." She whispered through her tight throat.

"It's difficult, I know but he would have killed you and me without a second thought."

"I do not wish to kill anybody ... anything ...it's not right"

"It's never right to kill but it was necessary .... shhh ... you are stronger than this ...." He whispered back, rubbing the back of her hands soothingly with his large thumbs.

Her sobbing gradually subsided, comforted by his kind words, his breath against the side of her face, his gentle touch.

Hector again kicked his heels into the horse once more to resume their perilous journey, conscious of the dangers that lay behind them.

--0--

"You collect some firewood ... I will set up some rabbit traps and build the fire".

After almost a days riding, they had stopped near a small lake. Hector had decided to set up camp between the water and a rocky outcrop, explaining that it would provide them cover from the weather and obscure them sufficiently, at least for the night so they could rest. He left the horse to lazily graze on a patch of lush-looking grass by the bankside, untethered to wander as it pleased. The sun beat down gaily as Sofia sauntered to one side of the lake, collecting dry branches and twigs in her arms as she went. She deeply breathed in the warm air which smelt of damp dead leaves and sticky ferns. Hector was gathering pebbles in preparation for the fire, heading in the opposite direction around the riverside to set up his traps near a collection of warren entrances he had spotted earlier. Sofia strolled further around the bank, her bare toes occasionally straying into the silty sand of the shore.

"Don't get lost!" She heard Hector yell in the distance as his head disappeared past the horses back and behind some trees.

Sofia took her time on her little errand, enjoying her newly found freedom for the first time, taking in the beautiful view of rippling water, gently swaying trees and sun beams beating down through the wispy clouds, something that she never thought she would see ever again. The air grew warm as it reached midday. Sofia strayed closer and closer to the shore, the little waves lapping at her toes.

That cool, clear water felt so good, looked so inviting. And she was still filthy from living in that cell, she could still smell the stench of it on her skin despite the fact she was wearing clean clothes. Perhaps a little dip wouldn't hurt .....

--0--

She returned to camp to find Hector crouched on the dry dirt, busily arranging his stones for the fire's hearth. He looked up as she approached, startled for a moment as if he didn't quite recognise her. Her hair was soaking wet, plastered away from her face and dripping a little onto her gown. Every patch of her skin was carefully scrubbed clean, her injuries soothed by the water. She felt so refreshed, so much better. All she craved now was a good meal and to sleep. She was smiling broadly; content as well as she could be within herself. Hector remained crouched as he watched her, mesmerised by this vision before him - Sofia looked startlingly different without the straggly hair and dirty face. She almost glowed in fact.

Sofia didn't notice his attentions. She walked right past him and dropped the branches she carried at one side of the camp.

"Ouch!" She exclaimed as the wood fell to the floor with a drumming thud.

Hector jumped up quickly to loyally attend to her. She was sucking her forefinger in her mouth, frowning as she stood by the branches. He raised his eyebrows and held out his hand, bidding her to show him the damage. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and placed it gingerly in his, the skin shining wet. He bent his head to study her forefinger closely, narrowing his eyes in concentration. Three splinters were implanted there - two half embedded and one totally buried under her delicate skin. He immediately yanked the half-embedded ones out skilfully with his thumb and forefinger, using them like tweezers. She scowled at him - it stung. He half smiled, half laughed at her reaction, finding it amusing that she was brave enough to take on Greek soldiers but acted like a baby when it came to a few splinters of wood.

"Here, we must get the other one out or it will become infected" He offered like an experienced nurse as he unhooked his cloak, intending to use the pin on the back of the circular bronze clasp to prise it out of her finger.

He carefully began to run the tip of the pin over the splinter, pressing down gently, trying the wear the skin down to easily get at the offending slither of wood. Sofia frowned, jerking her hand suddenly out his, her mouth pouting. Hector laughed again.

"You don't trust me, do you?"

He raised his eyebrow, eyes staring into hers, echoing exactly what she had said to him that time in the cell when she tried to bind his hand for him. She registered this and stubbornly offered her hand back to him, a little embarrassed at her own childlessness. He resumed removal of the splinter, engrossed at what he was doing.

Sofia did not notice her sore finger anymore. His touch was so gentle and he was so close. She almost couldn't believe that the man that she had witnessed ferociously kill Greeks in cold blood was tenderly attending to her tiny wound. She studied his face as he was looking down at her finger. He had bathed too. His face was also clean, his hair was damp, making it even curlier and making it appear darker, almost black. His wounds were healing well, the swelling of his black eye almost gone, the scratches on his cheek faded a faint pink, the split on his lip almost non-existent. She noticed little things about him that she had never seen before ... with his hair damp like that she could see that his ears stuck out a little. His eyes were quite small but very expressionate. His mouth had a slight overbite, which caused his tiny lisp. It wasn't _that_ noticeable ... but she had noticed it.

"What?" He had noted her staring at him. She had to think quickly.

"Err...you have bathed too?" good thinking.

"Yes. Great minds think alike as they say ...." He smiled.

--0--

Sofia silently watched as Hector deftly skinned the rabbits with the very same dagger she had stabbed the guard with. He skilfully slipped the blade under the skin and whisked the soft brown fur away, exposing the raw maroon flesh underneath, coated with a bloody sheen. She noticed that the fluffy white bobtail was splashed with blood as he discarded the skin, tossing the pelt onto the floor. He began to work on the meat, slicing open the belly in a bid to remove its guts - but then he sensed that Sofia was watching him. He stopped what he was doing and looked up her, expecting her to be squeamish over the rabbit carcass. But her distant eyes told him a different story.

"Are you still thinking about that guard you killed?" He asked coolly, wiping the dagger clean on his robe then continuing the preparation of dinner.

Sofia paused for a while, listening to the crickets softly sing all around them, pondering on what she should answer back. Her mind was full of so many memories and emotions at that moment, like a river teeming with fish; it was hard just to pull one out on its own.

"Does it get any easier? Taking lives I mean ...." She stared blankly at the rabbit corpse lying in his lap.

Hector suspended what he was doing and looked right at her, seemingly sombre with sincerity.

"The faces of every man I have slain haunts my dreams .... I have no desire to take life yet I am required to do so."

The outer corners of his eyes were turned downwards in sadness, the only gesture that betrayed the practiced, dignified countenance he always held. Sofia was becoming an expert in translating his expressions, she could tell her question roused difficult memories in him. Hector thought for a moment after he spoke, staring into the blackness beyond the fire's reach then resumed busying himself with the rabbit.

"But the honour you have earned in protecting Troy will ensure that your name will live on, thousands of years after your flesh has rotted and your bones are dust." Sofia exclaimed. That is what Achilles wished for; surely Hector must have sought it too?

"I would give it all up in a second to be at peace in my heart." He half-whispered in answer.

He tried to veil his unhappiness with a little smile but it did not fool Sofia. She rose and approached him. Crouching next to him she slipped the prepared rabbit on the makeshift spit of sharpened twig. As she did so, she touched his arm, squeezing it slightly in comfort.

"Hungry?" She asked as she slipped the second rabbit on the same spit.

"Yes." He smiled again as he watched her walk over to the fire to start cooking the meat, a little cheered by her apparent positivity.

--0--

Their bellies full, even with a meagre meal of rabbit and berries, they both reclined in front of the fire, trying to settle for the night. This was difficult – both of their minds were alert after their confrontation with the Greek soldiers earlier on at the beginning of their escape. But their bodies began to feel fatigued as weariness descended on them like an eclipse, the blood rushed away from their limbs and towards their stomach to joyfully digest the best meal both of them had eaten for a long while.

They had not exchanged words for a long time although the silence was not an uncomfortable one, rather a welcome respite of solitude. Sofia watched Hector stoke the fire with a knobbly two-pronged twig as he sat cross-legged close next to her. The flames danced merrily, licking against the smooth stones Hector had assembled earlier as a makeshift hearth. How very practical he was, she thought. His blank eyes stared thoughtfully into the centre of the fire as if he was trying to control the untameable flames with his mind. Sofia relaxed a little more and lay down slightly, propping her head up on her elbow. She stared into the fire too, trying to see what he saw. Then Hector suddenly spoke, eyes still glazed and centred on the fire.

"Now you are acquainted with me, are you disappointed?" He did not take his eyes away from the fire as he spoke.

"What do you mean?"

"If we survive ... if you survive ... what would you tell people about me in the years to come?" now he turned his gaze to her, fixed intently.

"Nobody will ever believe that I knew you, they will think I have been suffering delusions if I start telling them I have known the Prince of Troy!" she joked.

However, his face remained unmoved and she dropped her smile back to seriousness at his reaction. She suddenly realised he wasn't jesting.

"Do you really care what a simple village girl thinks of you?" She continued

"I care what _you_ think." He answered immediately.

His eyes still stared at her, seeing what he could glean from her facial expression. She could feel herself blush – thankfully the colours of the fire veiled her rosy cheeks. She carefully considered her answer for a moment:

"I would say that Hector is a great man, just like he is rumoured to be .... and a whole lot more". She smiled.

Hector remained silent, apparently unmoved or unconvinced at her comments.

"Hector ... I sense so much self-doubt in you ...." Sofia boldly continued.

"Most people think I am some sort of god on earth but I am flesh and blood like everyone else, just a man ..."

"But you are a good man Hector. You give people hope." Sofia tried to reassure him.

"I do not want that responsibility."

"You have no choice."

Hector frowned in silence at the fire, trying to take her words on board. He could not understand why she was being so kind to him, especially since he didn't deserve it. He had been such a brute to her a few days ago in that cell, he knew that. Sofia drew herself closer to face him, kneeling next to him so her features were level to his. She suddenly reached her hand up to his forehead and clenched her fist to his brow, pretending to pull something away and tuck it behind her back, keeping her arm there.

"Your frown .... I always wish I could just take it away, hide it ... if only for a little while ..." She explained.

He smiled at her back, touched by her childlike playfulness. Did he really frown that much? He had no idea that she was so sensitive to it or that she had paid that much attention. He leant towards her and took the hand she held behind her back, drawing it forward, holding it in his. He momentarily squeezed it. She could feel that his big hands were rough, some of the fingers calloused but his touch was so gentle.

"I have never met anybody like you in my life." He beamed.

Sofia's heart pounded. If she wasn't quite blushing before, she certainly was now. Even the fire couldn't hide it this time. Was that a good or a bad thing?

"I ... I've been meaning to thank for taking me with you. Achilles was right, I think I may slow you down .... I just don't want to seem ungrateful ..." She nervously stuttered.

"You saved my life; that night, you stopped me choking. And today ... with that soldier. I owe it to you that is all" He shrugged.

Sofia was disappointed at his answer and she couldn't understand why she felt so crestfallen – she should have been happy, surely. What other reason did she expect? Hector watched her face involuntarily drop at his answer. Something about the way she had wrinkled her nose slightly and bowed her head made his heart melt a little, like mountain snow in the first few days of spring.

"You didn't think I would leave you in there did you?! I'm starting to think the gods have sent you to watch over me!" He added cheerfully. She still looked disappointed, however.

Hector smiled at her and gently took her chin in his free hand, lifting her head up so her eyes met his again. Gazing into each others eyes as if they were hypnotised, they held this pose for a few moments. Hectors lips were slightly parted as if he was about to say something, maybe do something. The way his dark eyes warmly watched her made Sofia shiver with expectancy, as if he was trying to see straight into her soul. She could feel his breath on her face, smell his skin.

But he suddenly came to his senses, dropping his gaze and then his grasp on her hand and chin. He coughed deep in his throat as if he was embarrassed, then stood up swiftly, busying himself throwing more twigs on the fire.

"You should get some sleep. We have a long day ahead tomorrow. I will keep watch." He spoke into the fire as he watched the flames jump in thankfulness at the odd pieces of wood he had tossed to feed them. The flames gave his face a strange orange-red hue as their dancing reflected on his skin. He did not take his eyes from the fire again, his mind occupied.

Sofia felt her stomach sink again. Why did she feel so .... rejected?

With her eyes closed, Sofia could still feel the heat of the fire warming her skin and hear the crackle of moisture escaping from the wood. Hector was still awake, tending to it, keeping watch on it, keeping watch on her. She could tell. That shivery feeling she had experienced when he had gazed at her earlier returned. It churned the pit of her stomach, keeping her awake.


	8. An Unlikely Union 8: The Boarding House

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: The Chapter you have all been waiting for (although though it is pretty lengthy - sorry about that)! Hope it doesn't disappoint! (Reviews as always please!)_

8. The Boarding House

They rode for another day before they reached the outskirts of the little port-town Achilles had talked of. It felt strange for Sofia to see civilisation again. As they trotted up the dusty road towards the town, little children who were playing in the outer fields appeared like nymphs and chased the horse a little, giggling and trying to pat its rump, excited to see such weird and wonderful strangers. Hector laughed a little tinkling laugh as Sofia bent down from her perch to take from one little boy a delicate white flower he shyly offered her as a present. Smiling, she slid the flower behind one ear into her wavy hair and patted the boy on the head in thanks, ruffling his sandy brown hair.

The tops of the crumbling sun-baked buildings could be seen as the road wound into the town, through the colourful market and out to the glistening bay. The townspeople seemed jolly, prosperous. Some stall holders offered up their wares to Hector and Sofia as they passed, a hard sell – fruit ("freshest this side of town!"), jewellery ("for the pretty lady!"), even chickens ("good egg layers... tasty meat!"). Perhaps they assumed Hector and Sofia were some sort of rich couple because of Hectors noble countenance, their clothes, the handsome horse or maybe even the heavy bronze sword Hector carried. Hector graciously declined every offer.

"If we thought we could sneak into this town unnoticed I think we were wrong!" He whispered in Sofia's ear, still smiling.

Still, it did not seem to bother him too much. Obviously used to such attention, she thought.

Teasing glimpses of the sea peeped out from between the crowded buildings, - it looked still, blue, pure almost as if they could walk on its surface all the way back to Troy.

It was not difficult to find the boarding house Achilles had talked of. It was the only one in the town; a ramshackle looking building on a hill beside the bay which looked as if it might slide into the sea at any moment with it's wonky walls.

The inn-keeper was expecting them; the room was mysteriously already paid for – Achilles had been meticulous in his planning. The inn-keeper looked trust-worthy enough Sofia thought but then she reminded herself she was still on Greek shores – and nobody could be trusted. He was a little short balding man, not taller than Sofia with a smiling face and ruddy cheeks which made him look as if he had been dipping into his own wine stocks a little too often. He showed them to their room without asking any questions, smoothing the last few strands of hair he had down onto his oval head with his podgy hand.

--0--

Hector sat on the only chair in the sparse room. It was small, made for a woman – perhaps an old nursing chair. Positioned by the window, he was there for what seemed like an age, staring beyond the vine-covered window ledge out to the sapphire blue sea. Mesmerized.

He would occasionally shift uncomfortably making the knotted wooden frame creak in protest under his weight. The chair was far too small for his tall frame, making him hunch and appear older than his years. But if he did find it uncomfortable, it did not seem to bother him. His thoughts distracted him. His eyes were glazed and his frown deep, almost unnerving as he gazed as if he was straining across the Aegean's expanse to see Troy's golden shores with his naked eye. Hectors heart was weighed with longing just as a child longs for its mother. Longing for the fair city of Troy.

Her high fortress walls, smooth and unbreachable.

Her rich green gardens, scented by herbs during the day and mimosa during the warm summer evenings.

The great temple of Apollo, patron god of Troy, glinting on the beach like the golden sun itself, welcoming Trojans home from long weary journeys from across the treacherous sea.

The Trojan people – his people. Faithful and god-fearing, they maintained Troy's affluence and kept it protected. Sons, husbands, fathers and brothers – fearless warriors in Troy's famous militia. Many had fought for Hector, died for him. For Troy. He loved and respected them all.

He should have been sitting in the grand council hall of Troy's palace right at that moment, with its tall oil lamps and splendid tapestries celebrating victorious battles gone by. Instead of perched on a tiny chair, he should be sat enthroned and proud next to his father King Priam, conferring with the assembly about politics and war strategy. Men's talk. Hector wasn't sure how long Troy's walls would stand without him there, not now with the alliance of warlord Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus, spurned husband of Helen.

King Priam although old, still held all his faculties. But he was more superstitious than his eldest son and often heeded the advice from the priest over his generals. Hector feared and respected the gods like any good Trojan but was sceptical of so-called omens from Apollo. To him, strange sightings of birds and serpents could not sway fortunes in battle as well as sharp bronze and quick wits. But Priam would often make dangerous calculated decisions based on these omens alone.

And then there was Paris, Hectors little brother. In his absence Paris would be commanding the Trojan army now. But he was no commander or natural leader. Over-indulged by Priam as a boy, he could be capricious and petulant, often letting his heart rule his head. Many ranks in the army resented Paris for stealing Helen away from Sparta, for bringing the blood-thirsty Greeks to Trojan shores.

Hector needed to go back.

He was oblivious to the faint, almost soothing sound of waves crashing against the nearby beach and rocky black cliffs. The tide was coming in; the light breeze that sprayed the white stallions of foam also ruffled Hectors dark curls as it floated into the room. The sun was beginning to set, illuminating the roughly rendered walls of the room a marvellous burnt orange colour like the bronze Troy was so famous for. Judging by the sunset, it was to be a beautiful day the next day.

Sofia stirred on the bed. The crisp weaved sheet slipped from her waist to mid thigh as she fidgeted. She could not sleep although laying on the soft mattress felt like laying on a springy mound of sweet grass compared to the days and nights she had spent in that cramped cell like a wild animal. She was now clean and dry, a stupid wish that seemed beyond any hope a few days before. As she rolled onto her back, she took a deep breath. Beneath the robe her chest rose like the lush hills circling the bay beyond the window as she relished the smell of fresh air. Strange how things she had normally taken for granted now meant so much to her.

But the fresh air did not signal freedom. Not yet.

The worries that she had somehow managed to tuck into the farthest corners of her mind were now struggling to be set loose like a lobster in a pot. Her body and mind were so weary; it felt to her that they had become detached from each other. Numb and afraid of sleep, afraid of the nightmares that might visit her there. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine that she was back in her village, back at her home. Walking barefoot across the stream at the bottom of the vegetable garden, cooling her feet in the crystal waters. But all she could see was thick smoke and licking flames, all she could hear was a child, too young to understand death, crying. Frightened and desperate for his mother's comfort. The pit of her stomach rose to stick in her throat and dizzy with insecurity she shifted over in the bed once more, turning to look at Hector. He was so quiet she imagined he had abandoned her. But he was still there of course. She sighed in relief, her stomach coming back to rest in its proper place. Her messy brown hair had partially obstructed her gaze but instead of brushing it away she watched him through the straggly tresses, childlike; it made him a fuzzy sight. It didn't make him look so troubled somehow.

She felt so useless. Perhaps he might have already chartered a ship and set sail for Troy if she hadn't been slowing him down. A millstone around his neck. But if he felt that of her, he would never tell. It was not his way. She just wished she could do something to make it all better, all right.

"Why do you not come and rest for a while Hector?"

"I am not tired" He answered dismissively not turning his attention away from the azure horizon line.

She sat up on the bed, a little vexed by his cold tone. He had seemed so untroubled when they entered town, the sight of the sea seemed to give him excited anticipation of the last leg of their journey home. But now ...it was if he was a stranger. She followed his unrelenting stare out of the window. In the distance, two tiny ships with white sails appeared to be playing in the waves, trying to chase each other off the ends of the earth.

"Are you thinking of Troy?" Sofia attempted to engage him in some sort of conversation, a little lonely and in need of reassurance.

But he ignored her almost as if she were a servant at his palace, definitely present but socially invisible. She sank back down on to the bed in defeat, hand against her forehead, palm facing the ceiling.

"Well I cannot sleep either ...."She sighed to nobody in particular.

A long time passed before Hector spoke again. The cockroach Sofia had been watching bumble its way across the ceiling had had reached its destination – a dusty crack in the corner.

"You should not be troubled tonight. I have given you your freedom, a roof over your head, and clean bed. What more can you ask of me?"His firmness was unkind, arrogantly spoken.

Sofia could feel her blood rushing to the surface of her skin aching to be cooled. The lump in her throat told her that she wanted to cry.

"I have asked nothing of you. Yes prince, you have graced me with all that – but if you are so all-powerful why can you not take away the fear that if I close my eyes, I may never open them again?"

"After everything, you have no respect?"Hector still did not condescend to face her, his eyes angry and cruel.

This aggravated Sofia more.

"Yes, I have respect. For those who are worthy, Hector. But how can I have any respect for you if you have none for me? I may not be royalty but do not talk down to me like I am a fool. We are not in Troy now. Back in that disgusting cell and right at this moment - in this room - you are no better than me. So do not assume that you are!" Her voice was shrill as the swallows riding the warm air outside.

He had shown infinite kindness over the past few days, she could not understand the sudden relapse. She got up from the bed quickly in rage, her face red. She blinked trying to halt the inevitable tears, not wanting Hector to think she was crying for his sympathy. She paced around the room purposefully, picking up the dagger from where it lay on the floor and tucking it into her belt. She threw her cloak around her shoulders, lifting the hood over her head and tucking her hair into the dark folds.

Hector said nothing as he watched her stomp around the room, a little taken aback by her sudden outburst. Sofia continued shouting at him:

"The Greeks will have found us by tomorrow, I know you are trying to hide it from me, but I am not stupid! And even if we do escape what will become of us? I can tell you what will become of you. You will receive a hero's welcome. You will be back into the arms of your family and be ready to fight another glorious battle some other time. But I have nothing. My village was raised to the ground, my family are dead. What will I do? Become a farmer's wife with no recommendation or dowry? A beggar? A whore? No better than that fate that awaits me in Sparta I can assure you!" She raged, arms flailing wildly to make her point. She turned away and made for the door.

Hector tried to block her path but she pushed him away curtly with the palm of her hand.

"Where are you going?" He asked in concern.

Sofia ignored him

"You must come back to Troy! You will be fine, I will see to it...I will make sure you have a purpose, you could live within the city ...." He continued, his dark eyes quietly pleading.

"I do not wish to play nursemaid to the illegitimate children of kings and princes nor do I wish to scrub royal floors." She interjected calmly, dismissively.

Hector did not rise to it. He rolled his eyes in defeat. Perhaps she was right.

"I am leaving you Hector, to make my own fortunes in this world. I will slow you down no longer; I can tell you detest me for it"

She could hardly pronounce her statement, beginning to weep hysterically. Hectors harsh words and the thought of her future whirred round her head like a moth trapped in a lamp. The possible futures that lay ahead of her – most likely to die soon at the wrong end of a Greek blade ... or to be enslaved at Menelaus' palace ... at best to become a penniless wretch back at Troy. As Sofia tried again to ineptly make for the door through her blurry tears, he grabbed her firmly at the wrists with both hands in desperation. She tried to push him out of the way, violent with wrath and self-pity but of course, he was much too big for her to defeat. He clamped onto her wrists hard, his giant hands like pincers trying to restrain her, waiting for her to calm down. His fingers could feel raised bumps, imprints of rope where she had once been tied tightly by the Greeks. The more she struggled in his grip, twisting her wrists in an unnatural way, the more it hurt. Finally defeated she sunk to the floor, foetally trying to protect herself from her own overwhelming angst.

She looked a pitiful sight, sitting there. It was the first time Hector had really seen her succumb to her fear, the first time this brave woman had appeared to give up. His eyes softened as he scooped her whole limp body up into his strong arms like a pile of cloth, carrying her to the bed. He sat beside her as she lay there, clumsily reaching out to stoke her hair, not knowing how to comfort her. She did not respond.

"Sofia, if you cannot remain strong, how can I? Don't leave me now. Make you Papa proud ... he watches over you too."

She sat up and faced him, pulling clumps of her hair away that had stuck to her face with tears. What did he say? Overwhelmed by her normally suppressed fragility, he folded her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin, holding her and feeling remorseful for how unkind he had been earlier. The bristles of his beard tickled her forehead.

"Come, dry your eyes ...I am sorry about earlier, I did not mean to upset you so. It's just that I can't stop thinking of home. I didn't think." He explained, gently wiping the tears from her soaked eyelashes with his huge thumbs.

"Thinking of Troy? That is a good thing for me to hear! When I first met you all you wanted to do was die." Sofia exclaimed.

Hector thought for a moment

"You suddenly made my life more valuable." He smiled, stroking her hair from her face.

Her heart was pounding, making her feel light headed. What should she say now? What should she do now? She blurted the first thing that came into her head.

"Hector ... about yesterday"

"Which part?"

"When I bathed in the lake. I know you were watching me".

Inappropriate perhaps but somehow boundaries meant nothing anymore. Nothing did. Not past. Not future. It was strange to see Hector look so embarrassed. He hung his head awkwardly blinking as fast as his mind was racing.

He hadn't meant to spy. As he was bending down in some bushes near the waters edge he had heard a distant splashing noise. Alarmed at the thought that it might have been caused by Greek soldiers crossing the lake in preparation for an ambush, he peered through the branches as he crouched there. But what his eyes were met with were not burly men but a single, slender female figure, a naked back, the waters surface not quite covering the top of the buttocks. It was Sofia. He knew it was not right to continue to watch but he simply couldn't help himself. She was singing sweetly to herself as she bathed unawares. With her back still to him, she cupped both her hands in the shimmering water and poured the contents leisurely over her chest and neck, the length of her hair pulled over one shoulder leaving her back completely exposed. Her skin looked almost edible like the sweet inner flesh of an apple or melon. The sight of her glistening back was wonderfully erotic; an hourglass figure - the nape of her neck curving out to her shoulder blades then down to the sides of her pert breasts, in sharply at her small waist then sublimely out again to her broad hips and full buttocks. She began to swim, gliding through the water with ease like a mythical mermaid his father had told him tales about as a boy. She swam a little closer to him and stood for a moment, staring into the water, her wet hair hanging like a pair of curtains over her shoulders, barely covering her breasts. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, ashamed at his own arousal.

Sofia knew he was watching. She had seen a flash of bronze glint far up on the bank. – the dagger which Hector had taken to set up the traps. But he did not appear to be setting up any traps. The glint was unmoving, the sun reflecting off an inanimate, unused object. Just as she began to swim she shivered a little as the water enveloped her chest and shoulders – but not because the water was cold. Yes, she could feel he was watching.

As she confronted him, he could do nothing but tell the truth, the stealth of her statement meant he was unable to brush it aside. A direct hit by an unseen arrow.

"I am sorry ... I did not mean to linger ... I could not help it. It has been a while since I have seen a woman. Like that."

"And did you like what you saw?"

Hector could not quite believe or understand her boldness. His cheeks flushed as if he were an inexperienced seventeen year old boy. He couldn't tell if it was excitement or embarrassment that made his blood rush. He nodded his head and smiled.

"Very much so."

Surprisingly to Hector, Sofia didn't look offended that he had spied on her. She just looked confused.

"Then why did you not kiss me last night?"She almost couldn't bring herself to ask it. Maybe she didn't really want to know. No, no. She definitely needed to know.

"... was it because of your wife?" She continued.

Hector was speechless. It was an awkward situation - awkward yet perhaps a little exciting - in a strange way. His heart was palpitating in his chest, he could feel it. Nervous like a seventeen year old again. He just shook his head in the negative.

"Do you not find me attractive?" Sofia persevered.

Hectors composure slightly regained, he tried his best to diplomatically explain.

"You are an exceptional woman Sofia. Why do you think you were earmarked for Menelaus, King of Sparta? But you deserve so much more than that, simply just being a prize for a man's bed. It makes my blood boil just thinking about it. You deserve to be a prize for a man's arm, for him to show you off to the world with pride."

"Please stop talking in riddles Hector ... if you don't then just say it ..."

He rolled his eyes in frustration at himself. He could talk easily about war strategy and horse riding, why could he not articulate himself well enough to tell her how he felt?

"Yes. I think you are very beautiful."

"Well, am I not good enough for you, is that it?"

"More like I am not good enough for you! ... Look - in truth, my body says 'yes' but my mind tells me 'no'. The only reason is that is just not the right situation, I don't want to take advantage of you whilst you are so vulnerable ..."

"Take advantage? I am not a naïve child Hector. I know what goes on between men and women; I just have never actually experienced it for myself! And as for the situation ... well, do you really think that if we met in Troy – which is highly unlikely in itself – anything would have happened? Between the prince and the village girl?" Sofia exclaimed.

Hector knew she was right. He hung his head a little ashamed; he knew he was making it sound like he was rejecting her when in truth he wanted to do nothing of the sort. Sofia watched his face, watched his mind ticking. She could understand where he was coming from ... her mind said no too. The last thing she wanted to do was fall for a prince. What a ridiculous notion that was! But her heart said otherwise.

"Oh Hector. Do you really think I asked you to come and rest with me earlier for sleep?" She muttered.

Hector lifted his gaze to meet her suddenly in shock. Was she really saying what he thought?

In life, Hector had been given many attractive proposals by beautiful women. He had lost his virginity at a young age when he wasn't yet interested in girls ... it happened almost by accident as a maid bathed him one morning. She was no innocent; she knew what she was doing. He had a feeling that she had also introduced his brother Paris into the wonderful world of women, too. Hector was practically chased by girls as a teenager. But was in no way as prolific as Paris who left a string of broken hearts and warm beds in almost every town and port he visited – Hector did not have his brother's charm and did not find it easy to talk to women. But then again, talking was not always required to get a girl into Hectors bed ... slave girls, temple maids, the daughters and even the wives of dignitaries - all before his marriage to his beloved Andromache of course. The only reason these women wanted to share his bed was because he was a trophy, a celebrity – a prince, a general, a warrior. But this was not of interest to Sofia.

"Why would you want me?!" He exclaimed, eyebrows raised.

Sofia smiled to herself at his humility.

"Yes, I guess you haven't always been the perfect gentleman! But I want you know it's not because of what you are, I do not care about your crown or your sword. I don't want to give myself to you to plicate you. I care about who you are, what is here..." said explained pointing to his forehead, meaning his mind "... and here..." she said point to his chest, meaning his heart.

Touched and flattered at her words, all Hector could do is lean forward and softly brush his lips against hers. It was as if he was testing the water at first, testing the chemistry between them. Sofia did not kiss back at first, tingling from the top of her head all the way down to the tip of her toes ... but then she relaxed and took his bottom lip in between hers. Chemistry.

"Wait ... Would you not rather save yourself for your future husband?" He said breathlessly, pulling away from their clinch suddenly in concern.

"Hector, it is a little too late now for those foolish dreams to be realised. In the likely event that the Greeks would have caught up with us by tomorrow, you know what will become of us ....."

"They will kill me and you will still be sent to Menelaus ..." Hector shrugged.

"But if what attracts him no longer exists? I would rather die than be used like that. My purity is the only thing I own, the only power I have over events now. I will not let him steal it from me; it is for nobody else to decide or enforce. And I choose you."Her face was earnest; she did not speak in madness.

"You believe you will die soon, don't you?"

"Hector, you can't deny that the chances of us managing to leave on a ship to Troy are very slim indeed ...."

"Yes. They are." He answered honestly. Sofia's heart sunk a little as if she didn't quite want to believe it.

"Well, let us both forget about the future for just one night, enjoy the time we have left. You know, I never thought that when this moment came in my life that I would almost have to beg the man in question!" Sofia joked, her humour as some kind of emotional protection.

"Sofia ..." he said softly reaching out again brush her hair from her face, stroking his fingers across her cheekbones and chin. She momentarily closed her eyes in pleasure at his touch "... I would like nothing more than to make love to you right now ...."

He leant forward to kiss her again but she pulled away from him at the last moment.

"Don't do this because you feel duty-bound or to comfort me. Do it because you want to ..." She whispered, frowning.

Hector smoothed his fingers over the wrinkles in her brow, and then gently took her right hand. To demonstrate, he placed it under his vest, her palm pressed against his bare chest on the left hand side, her fingers splayed across his warm skin, looking into her eyes all the while. He then lent forward again and kissed her, tenderly at first then a little more passionately. She felt his heart race as he did so, beating strongly.

"Lie down for me, Sofia ... don't be scared"

"I'm not. I trust you."

--0--

Hector lay on his side and pulled her close, her head nestled under his chin like once before. But different this time. Intimacy made everything different now. Their bare feet muddled under the sheet. He stroked her hair with one hand, his other resting on her back, caressing it with his fingers. It made her skin tingle. His collarbone had flushed a deep pink. She pulled herself away from him slightly to study his body and ran her fingers lazily across his chest and round to his back. She felt the outlines of his muscles and the raised contusions of his healing scars. His skin felt wonderfully warm. She pressed her palm against it, just like she did during their first encounter when he was near-death lying on the cell floor. It suddenly struck Sofia that life as a prisoner seemed a lifetime away now. She looked up at his face. He was watching her back, his eyes full of warmth and affection.

Sofia smiled to herself. How absurd sex was, how absurd male and female bodies are ... but how beautiful that they fitted together so perfectly.

Hectors usual frown had disappeared. Sofia reached up and intimately stroked his face with her fingertips, running her fingertips across his brow, down to his cheekbone, following the three scratches Clytemnestra had caused, down to his beard, then across to his mouth. She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. As she did so he turned his face to tenderly kiss her hand, then her wrist.

She wished this feeling would never leave her.

He bent down and gently kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and then her lips.

"Try not to worry about tomorrow ... things are will be okay then you know"He whispered. Sofia knew this was not true but thought it was sweet that he was trying to soothe her.

"Things are okay now ..." She sighed sleepily. There was a long pause.

"No, they are not. I can't help but think I have endangered your life just being with you. If you had escaped alone, they would not bother to come after you. But just being with me ... they will punish us both if they find us"

"Don't talk of such things Hector; I am honoured to be with you. I want to be with you ..." Sofia spoke into his chest. She had no idea that he had concealed those kind of worries. He sighed to himself

"Sofia ...What ever happens, I will find you ...." It seemed a strange thing to promise, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, not being able or indeed wanting to fight it off any longer. It was the closest she had come to contentment for a long time.


	9. An Unlikely Union 9: Stolen Away

An Unlikely Union

_Quick Comment: The plot thickens!!! This is the penultimate chapter, I will be really sad to finish this fic but I do have another Hector centred fic in the pipelines - not that I'm obsessed with him or anything ..._ ;o) _(yeah right!)_

_Please continue with the reviews ... I seem to be getting less since I came back from holiday (boo!_ :o( _) I hope this doesn't mean less people are reading it!_

_Again, not that much time to check this one but I hope it reads okay ...._

_Donna Lynn: Yes, I actually did write the love scene but sensored it in the end as I did not want to get into trouble or offend anyone. Maybe I'll put it back in and send it to you for your eyes only!_

_Rachael: Let me know what you think and if you eagle eyes spot any mistakes! I'm counting on you, my kind of proof reader! _

9. Stolen Away

"Sofia ...."

She opened her eyes suddenly, rudely awoken from her sound slumber. For a moment she couldn't quite distinguish between dream and reality, work out where she was or what woke her.

"Sorry, I did not mean to awake you with such a shock ....."

Cushioned on a soft pillow, Sofia turned her head to the side, bleary eyed to see where the voice was coming from. Hector was kneeling at the side of the bed, his elbows on the sheet, denting the downy mattress with his forearms horizontal against it. His chin was resting on his flattened hands, watching her. His face was close, adjacent to hers. A contended smile slowly spread across Sofia's face as delightful memories of last night came flooding back .... She had almost completely forgotten why they were there, the urgency of their situation or indeed the horrible circumstances in which she had met Hector. She stretched all her limbs like a cat and rubbed her eyes languidly with her fists, screwing up her eyes and wrinkling her nose to clear her misty view. Whilst her eyes were closed, she felt that Hector had put out his hand, lightly stroking her hair from her face, his palm lingering on the top of her head.

"Why did you not wake me earlier?" She asked in a croaky voice.

"You looked so beautiful and peaceful; I did not have the heart to wake you." He smiled, bending down to kiss her nose.

"And you look different ...." She observed as her eyes focused on him.

She couldn't put her finger on why but he did not look so stern somehow. She put her hand out and stroked his face, cupping her hand affectionately between his chin and cheekbone.

"I feel different!" He exclaimed, taking her hand from his face and holding it in his.

"Where have you been?" She asked sleepily confused.

She could see he had been up and about for a little while, although it was still early morning - the space in the bed next to her was cold and Hector was fully clothed, whereas Sofia was still completely naked under the thin sheet. The sun had only just risen; the air was cool, the sky a pale blue and the moon only just fading.

"To the harbour .... I struck a deal with a ship owner there, no questions asked. It's a small vessel, questionable whether we'll get to Troy without it being swept to pieces but at least it's something ...."

His revelation woke her properly; she sat up in the bed and sheet clutched to her chest, incredulous. It seemed almost impossible that they would really flee Greek shores but now escape was a tantalising, real possibility.

"You bought a boat? With what? We have nothing to trade!"

Hector lifted his head from where it rested on his hands:

"A ship...." He corrected. "... a small one. That dagger - it seems Achilles didn't just leave it for us as a weapon. It's covered in precious rubies and inlaid with gold. We could probably buy this whole boarding house and the building next door with it!"

"The dagger?! I bet the owner wouldn't have touched it he knew it had taken the life of a Greek soldier ... or that the Prince of Troy had skinned rabbits with it ...." Sofia exclaimed, eyes wide remembering how it felt to push the dagger into a man's flesh and picturing Hector skinning the bloody rabbit carcasses as if he was using nothing more than a worthless piece of tin.

"If you could have seen the way his eyes lit up with sheer greed at the sight of it ... well, put it this way, I'm sure he would have traded his own wife for it." Hector shrugged

He stood up and stretched his hands behind his head, elbows sticking outwards from his ears , you need to dress now. Let us leave this place. Let us finally go home. The ship awaits us."

Sofia's heart jumped into her throat in anticipation at Hectors words. Home. Was it really true that they were leaving? She wouldn't quite believe it until she had watched with her own eyes the Greek shores disappear from sight behind the horizon, surrounded with miles and miles of glittering blue sea.

"Have you ever sailed before?" Hector asked breezily. He too was obviously elated at the prospect of setting foot on Trojan soil once again.

Sophie peeled the corner of the sheet back and manoeuvred her legs out of bed, standing and searching for her robe that had been carelessly discarded onto the floor the night before. Hector watched her, his eyes pouring appreciatively over the sight of her nakedness. He held the robe in one hand, mischievously hiding it behind his back so he had a few extra moments to admire her body. Sofia's eyes examined the floor as she stood there. They darted up to Hectors hand and spotted her robe peeping out from behind him. She raised her eyebrows at him, mocking distaste and held out her hand; silently requesting it as if he were a naughty child ... but her mouth could not suppress a little smile. He finally, hesitantly handed it to her and she answered his question as she put the robe over her head, her voice slightly muffled by the material.

"No. Not really. Unless you count when they bought me here or the time I used the ferry-crossing over the Scamander...." She said finally finding the hole for her head and pulling the robe over.

"Well I hope you do have natural seafaring legs ... it will take us a few days to get to Troy in that little ship ...." Hector said, drawing himself to Sofia, his arm around her hips, pulling her close.

A warm rush spread from her stomach out to her toes, head, and fingers. She loved to be close to him. She smiled, looking up at him and wrapping her arms tightly around his thick waist, feeling his stomach move in and out as he breathed.

"I'm sure I will be fine. Stuck in a little ship with you can't be all that bad, not now anyway ....."

Hector bent down to kiss her in response, his beard tickling his chin, his mouth gently pressed against hers, his lips parting her own. Sofia adored the way he tasted.

An explosion of noise; the door literally burst open, people spilling into the room.

Sofia and Hector broke away from their clinch suddenly in shock. Chaos.

What was happening?

Everything followed in slow motion again as if the gods had decided once more to toy with the sands of time and implicate Sofia and Hector in on their games. Panic throbbed in every muscle of Sofia's body, her brain frozen. Hector grabbed her by the shoulders to get her attention and she looked into his face, searching for reassurance.

"RUN!" He was shouting at her, his face full of alarm – an expression she had never seen on him. This made her panic even greater.

"Hector!" She yelled. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't move, anchored to the spot in fear

"Run Sofia, run as fast as you can!" He pleaded, eyes were wide with distress.

Two men violently grabbed hold of his arms, knocking him back but he was far too concerned about Sofia at that moment to even attempt to resist them.

Greek soldiers. At least seven of them filled the room.

Sofia turned and tried to make for the door, her ears tuned into the commotion that was going on behind her as Hector tried in vain to fight the soldiers off with his fists.

She could hear another two of them talk amongst themselves as they stalked around the room

"Catch her!"

"Look ..." one exclaimed, examining the bed sheets and seeing a tell-tale patch of watery blood "She has ruined herself with the prince!"

"The slut will be no good for Menelaus now ... take her away!" said another.

Her legs like jelly, she tried to weave in between them and get to the door. But she was stopped dead in her path by a large man standing astride the doorway and in the confusion she crashed straight into him, her nose pressed up against the smooth bronze breastplate. He placed his large hands on her shoulders to halt her, to steady her and then to capture her, grasping her so hard she could feel his fingers touch her bones. She closed her eyes and struggled wildly, somehow finding strength through her sheer terror. She twisted in the man's grip violently, her eyes snapping open. She could see Hector, still tussling with what were now four soldiers. They crowded round him, almost obscuring her view.

"Hector!" She screamed again.

He stopped fighting with the soldiers for a moment and looked over to her direction in concern as he heard her frightened voice. In the split second that he had stopped struggling, a soldier saw his chance and laid a punch straight into Hectors stomach, so hard it knocked the wind out of him completely. Strangely, the soldiers seemed to drop away from him after the blow, freeing his arms and standing back. Hector looked from them to Sofia who was suddenly stone still within the man's grasp, as white as a ghost and staring at his stomach in horror. He followed her gaze slowly down.

Blood gushed rapidly out of a small but deep wound in the stomach. His stomach.

He simply couldn't feel any pain, full of adrenaline and shock. In a trance he slowly reached over and touched the wound with his hand, feeling the sensation of his own blood on his fingertips. Dark red. Hot. His gaze followed the stream of blood onto the floor; it soaked his vest and was forming a large puddle on the floor.

The world slowed.

Noises became faint.

He could see Sofia was yelling but to him it was as if she was mouthing his name. She struggled manically in the man's hands, trying to break free and come to his aid. But the man that had captured her simply picked her up, tucked her under one arm with ease as if she were a stray goat and carried her out of the room, her legs kicking fiercely, her fists pounding into him, her face puffy and red from crying.

Coldness grew around Hector.

His eyelids were heavy.

His legs buckled.

--0--

Sofia was in pain, her head hurt. It pounded like an animal-hide drum. She was almost too frightened to open her eyes; she did not want to know where she was or who had taken her there. In fact, she did not want to open her eyes ever again. An immense feeling of hopelessness spread over her being, engulfing any sense of faith she once had. There was now no point in survival, in existence. Everything was lost; the Greeks had managed to destroy everything and everyone she had cared about. She now began to understand how Hector must have felt when he had lost his wife. Sofia had now lost Hector and the ache in her heart was unbearable.

She opened her eyes. She was sat on a pile of cushions in a corner of a large tent. She was tied to a post, sitting upright, her arms bound behind her back. She didn't know why they felt the need to restrain her - she did not have the energy or inclination to try to escape. They could do what they wanted with her now; she just hoped that they did not prolong her miserable life any longer. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she looked around trying to get an idea of her surroundings – quite opulent considering it was only a temporary lodging. The draped material was a rich dark red, embroidered with gold thread in places. In one corner sat a shiny bronze bowl on a pedestal full of steaming hot, clean water for bathing. Near the centre of the room lay a low wooden table; a platter of succulent looking fruit, fresh bread and a pitcher of rich wine sat on it. In another corner stood an imposing looking wooden dummy, imposing as it was covered in fine armour. Before her eyes grew properly used to the light, she momentarily thought it was a person standing there. Her eyes stinging, she began to recognise that smooth breastplate and the large shin guards, she had seen them before. Achilles.

He was lounging on a bed by the table, propped on one forearm; one knee raised and was sipping from a goblet of wine, watching her closely. His shoulder length blond hair was tied loosely at nape of his neck.

"I had to knock you unconscious – you were so hysterical I could not do a thing with you." He said sternly, watching her as if she was some bizarre animal, taking another sip.

Sofia could feel the bump on her forehead start to throb and a wave of sheer, unadulterated hate washed across her as she disrespectfully stared at him back. She could feel reluctant tears start to stream from her eyes, stinging her face.

"You killed him!" She spat.

Achilles rolled his eyes tiresomely:

"The knife that dealt the blow was not in possession was it? I was too busy holding some worthless writhing wretch." He answered arrogantly, meaning Sofia.

This riled Sofia even more:

"It was all a ruse, wasn't it? Your plan. You led the soldiers to us, didn't you?!" She yelled.

Achilles laughed, apparently amused by her rage.

"Think what you will, it is really inconsequential to me what you feel....but I was actually trying to stop them. I went with them to throw them of your scent. But it was an impossible task; it seems your arrival in the village did not go unnoticed. The fisherman's wives to the beggars on the streets knew of the strange, scruffy couple staying at the boarding house."

"You are a liar ... why would you want to help Hector, there is no plausible reason. I have never trusted you!" Sofia exclaimed, full of resentment.

"I do not need to explain myself to you, silly girl! Are you deaf, did you not hear the conversation that took place between myself and the Prince in that disgusting cell? You were there!" He began to lose his patience, sitting up straight and draining the bottom of the goblet.

"To irritate Agamemnon? Why don't you just steal his favourite horse or sleep with his wife? You seem to have to morals of a demon anyway". She said, knowing that it would provoke him.

He tried hard not react to her, he did not wish to condescend. He sighed wearily and bought his hand up, vainly studying his fingernails.

"The horse is a nag and I have already been entertained by Clytemnestra. She lays there like a sack of grain, I should think that Agamemnon would be relieved that someone takes her off his hands for the evening." He answered coolly, with a shrug

"You truly are an abominable man ...." Sofia hissed, disgusted at his arrogant attitude.

He stood and placed the empty goblet on the table, then walked over to his helpless prisoner, towering over her superiorly. He crossed his massive arms defensively over his bare chest.

"Keep that mouth in check girl or I will knock you out again." He said menacingly.

Grief seemed to cancel out all the fear Sofia possibly could feel: She knelt up defiantly, trying to show that she was not scared of him,

"Please do – if it means I have any respite from you". She glared at him, unmoved.

Achilles laughed again insultingly, his arms still crossed, his chest shaking in mirth and his head thrown back.

"You really are a fearless little thing aren't you? I can see why Hector wanted you for his bed; I bet you are quite uninhibited. A slut and a virgin, what a prize." He taunted, an eyebrow raised.

Sofia exploded in rage, and struggled violently in her tether, wanting her hands to be free so she could beat him with them or shake him by the neck. Achilles watched her writhe on the floor, her face boiling, tears flowing. The rope began to burn into her wrists:

"You cruel bastard! I do not care what you say about me but do not drag Hectors name about in the mud; he is a better man than you will ever be!"

"Was..." Achilles corrected "Enough. This conversation is boring me now." He dismissed, turning his back and walking away, sitting slowly back down on the bed.

As her rage subsided, Sofia began to sob pitifully. Everything seemed so futile now. She could not stop the memories flooding back to her; Hectors last beautiful kiss, how happy she had been ... the blank look on his face when he realised he had been stabbed and the sound of his blood dripping on the floor. She couldn't stop herself imagining what had happened to his body, probably denied of proper funeral rites, a mutilated trophy. The thoughts tortuously buzzed round her head like a cloud of angry wasps.

Achilles seemed to soften in pity at the snivelling wretch that sat miserably before him. Or perhaps her sobbing simply irritated him.

"Here have some wine ... it will calm you down" He said, reaching for the pitcher and a spare goblet. He poured the wine carefully and approached her with the goblet in his steady hand and stood over her again, offering it out. She looked up at him incredulous through her tears.

"And how do you suppose I drink it? My hands are tied, remember." She spat bitterly.

"You won't try to escape or attack if I untie you" He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

Sofia found this to be a ridiculous question:

"I am not that stupid. If I do escape, I have nowhere to go. And why would I try to attack you, you are more than twice the size of me!"

Achilles considered this for a moment and thought it to be a fair point. He crouched and reached round to untie her. Her wrist loose, she rubbed them rhythmically with her fingers, glaring at Achilles in loathing. The rope had left an angry-looking imprint on her skin. He handed her the goblet and without thinking she raised it to her lips. Then hesitated before she took any of the liquid into her mouth.

"It's not drugged or poisoned. You saw me drink some yourself." He offered, still crouching next to her.

Grudgingly, she took a sip. As the liquid slowly filled her mouth, the alcohol burnt her dry cracked lips.

"Here, have some of these grapes ... you must be ravenous" Achilles had stood and was holding a bunch of juicy-looking white grapes in his hand. She hesitated again.

"Look, these are fine too ..." He demonstrated that they were not tainted by popping a couple into his own mouth then he offered them out to her.

She gratefully accepted and sat there hungrily feeding on the grapes so perfectly ripe they burst in her mouth, filling it with sweet juice. She intermittently took large sips of wine between mouthfuls of fruit. Achilles sat back on the bed, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands loosely clasped together as he observed her, amazed at her appetite.

Sofia paused suddenly, two grapes still clasped in her fingers ready to be transferred to her mouth.

"What are you going to do with me?" She asked, warily.

"Do not fear, you will not be harmed where I am taking you."

"Taking me?! Where?" She asked, confused by his apparent riddle.

"Somewhere safe." He answered immediately.

Sofia was still totally confused. Shocked and confused. The grapes fell into her lap and she placed the goblet onto the floor.

"Why would you do that?"

"I could not save Hector but I can save you. I think you do not realise the danger you have put yourself in fraternising with such an important man, being a consort, a lover of the Prince of Troy. If the Greeks or even the royal court of Troy discover that you were with Hector during his last days or about your close relationship they will interrogate you until you break with no regard to your wellbeing."

Sofia narrowed her eyes sheepishly at Achilles; she still did not trust him.

"There is another reason, other than Agamemnon for all this, isn't there Achilles?" She observed.

This obviously made him feel uncomfortable and he looked away from her, fidgeting his feet a little and wringing his hands.

"You like to think you are clever don't you?! But you are foolish. Did you really think that if you did manage to return to Troy with Hector he would have wanted anything to do with you, that you would be anything more than a mistress, a maid or even a distant memory. There has probably been dozens of girls like you ...." He exclaimed spitefully in self-protection.

Sofia was deeply hurt by his comments and she hung her head. Of course those thoughts had crossed her mind. The thought of Hector using her, the knowledge that she was not good enough for him, the thought of him taking many other virginities and laying with many other women. She had tried to blank them out for her own sanity.

"Of course I realise that – I was not blinded by his celebrity. Life in Troy did not once cross my mind: I thought that I would not survive for much longer, we knew the soldiers where on out tails. I lived for the moment when I spent the night with him, nothing more. He was a good man." She explained in a tiny voice. It wavered due to the lump forming in her throat.

"Did you love him?" Achilles suddenly looked straight at her as her asked matter of factly. Completely out of the blue his heartlessness seemed to disappear.

"Yes ..." She hung her head again and began to cry softy. She could see Hector so perfectly in her head. It was probably the first time she had even admitted these feeling to herself.

"I can tell. I remember that time in the cell .... You looked at him with the same affection that my Briseis once had for me ...." Achilles added thoughtfully.

"Briseis?" Sofia lifted her head to face him once more, totally intrigued. Could it really be true that this monster could feel compassion and love himself?

"... And I could see in Hectors eyes the same fondness for you ...." He continued, his face softening.

Sofia was dumbfounded by these revelations. First at this mysterious Briseis, second that that in one breath Achilles was persuading her that Hector had used her body and in the next that he really had, in fact, cared for her.

"Who ... who is Briseis?" She stuttered, almost knocking the goblet over as she moved her foot.

"She was my woman. She was slave given to me by my men, a priestess of the great temple of Apollo that lies on Troy's beach. They captured her when they sacked it. I set her free to test her love for me but she returned to her family in disgust when she discovered that I had challenged her beloved cousin to a duel. She pleaded with me not to fight him, believing that in my rage over Patroclus' death, I would show no mercy. But I had a change of heart at the crucial moment, with my blade poised to his neck. I proved her wrong. Unfortunately that ass Agamemnon ruined all that ....." He explained sadly

"Cousin?"

"Hector of course. She is the reason I spared his life. Agamemnon had his men take the Prince prisoner before I could allow him to return to the palace, before I prove my love to Briseis. Then I tried to undo it all by helping Hector escape. It was my final chance of ever seeing my love again." He added with a sad shrug.

Was he really being so honest? Or perhaps it was all just another clever ruse.

Although she was shocked and still a little untrusting of Achilles motives, suddenly everything made sense, like a giant ball of twine that had unravelled and unknotted itself. Sofia's head swam, floating like a cork in the sea as she tried to take it all in. She lifted the goblet from the floor and took a huge swig, needing to feel the divine numbness that too much wine brings. Achilles continued to watch her, noticing that she was having trouble taking it all on board.

"This mess, it's all my fault. Not the war but Hectors fate, your predicament ... I did not wish for any of it. Now I will try to put what I can right. Keeping you safe is what Hector would have wanted ...and Briseis would want whatever her cousin wished for." His body language was open, he lent back a little, and his hands stretched outward, his face honest.

Sofia could not question him any longer, still absolutely astounded. She simply sat there and blinked, feeling the alcohol in the wine start to seep into her veins.

"Sofia isn't it? Sofia you must do something for me in return. From now on, you must keep all of this a secret. Everything. You must not tell anybody of your relationship with Hector, you must deny that you have ever met him, me or Agamemnon - any of us, for your own safety - as I explained before. Trust nobody".


	10. An Unlikely Union 10: Peace

An Unlikely Union 

_Quick Comment: Okay, okay I put my hands up. I said this would be the last chapter but ... it ended up being far too long! So, here is the penultimate chapter. I promise this time!_

_Thanks for all the great reviews peeps, I find it really helpful and inspiring so keep them coming. I have been trying to read all your stories too but finding the time to do so is difficult as I only have use of a PC at work - most of my spare (or slacking!) time is mainly used typing up this fic! I'm going to get RSI! Anyway, I would be interested to read your stuff, give me a prompt when you review_

_Anyways, I hope you are all itching for the next chapter after this!_

10. Peace

Sofia stood up straight and lent backwards, hands resting on her lower back as she stretched. The continuous bending was making her ache. She took a deep breath and looked at the sun as it disappeared behind a heavy-looking grey cloud. The woman opposite her continued her task, winnowing the chaff from the grain with wooden paddles, the little puffs of husk floating in the air whilst the grain fell back to the ground like summer raindrops. On the other side of the yard by the silo, the farmer's wife was grinding grain for bread-making tomorrow. She sat on an old milking stool, skilfully pounding a heavy stone pestle into a large circular receptacle made of marble. It had huge chips missing out of the lip through its years of use and Sofia smiled to herself as she imagined the farmer quietly picking little pieces of marble out of his teeth after dinner, not wanting to offend his wife.

The farmer's wife stopped grinding every now and again to wipe her sweaty brow and make silly faces at a couple of gurgling babies that lay happily next to her in a wicker basket laying on the ground in the partial shelter of the silo. The two babies, the older one a girl with wisps of sandy brown hair, the younger one a boy already with a full dark mop found her fascinating, staring at her face as she manipulated her wrinkly lips into weird and wonderful expressions, some of her teeth missing as if she were a baby herself. A young girl of about eight or nine was sat on a blanket on the other side of the farmer's wife. She played with a toddler, bouncing him in her arms and tickling his little pink toes. It was a happy sight and Sofia sighed contentedly to herself as she picked up her paddles again to resume her winnowing.

Quite a few of the women who worked at the farm had children. They were all the flotsam and jetsam of war, somehow washed up at the farm. All had their own story to tell - Greek, Trojan, it didn't matter. Some women had waved their husbands away at the docks and had never seen them again. Some were Trojan bought over as slaves. Some were women who had fallen in love with a soldier, gotten themselves into trouble with no means to bring up a child. All of them had so much in common - now the war was over there was no place for them in society.

However, nobody who worked at the farm was a slave. They had an understanding with the farmer and his wife - they worked in payment for their food and board. They could leave whenever they chose to although most never did – a few of the lucky ones had married farmhands and set up a home of their own but as for the others, they simply had nowhere else to go. The farmer and his wife were kind people, they looked after all the women with as much care as if they were their own daughters - and in return for this kindness, the women were loyal, trustworthy and hardworking. A close-knit community, an extended family ... and the farm prospered from it. It was a huge estate - a large villa, fields of goats, sheep and arable, a small vineyard and an orchard.

Sofia was happy there. She had learnt to accept her fate now although she was still haunted by her memories of what had taken place just over a year ago. She often woke in the early hours of the morning, beaded in sweat after vivid nightmares, about the cell, about fire, about swords and knives, about dead rotting flesh. She welcomed the dreams where she was back at the school in Troy or where Hector was still at her side - although her heart always ached when she awoke and remembered that these beautiful dreams were no longer reality.

She had never talked about her memories and these dreams with anyone, just as she had promised Achilles that night in his tent before he had brought her here. He was right - he had bought her somewhere safe, well at least she felt it to be. That was another good thing about living there .... nobody asked questions, an unspoken understanding that perhaps not everyone could talk about their past with ease. Some of the women there had been through some horrific experiences: rape, forced prostitution, watching loved ones die - sometimes it was just easier to forget.

As she busily worked away she recalled a whispered conversation she had a few nights previous. It was with her friend Cassandra in the dormitory – rows of beds where the women slept. Most of the others were asleep, exhausted from a hard day harvesting in the fields but Sofia and her friend couldn't sleep: they both sat edge of their beds which lay next to each other, wrapped up snugly in their night gowns, gossiping in whispers whilst their lone stumpy candle hardly lit the long room, strange elongated shadows projecting onto the plastered walls. Sofia had never met anyone like Cassandra before. Although around the same age as Sofia, she seemed younger, like an excitable teenager. She was very brazen and honest which was understandable when Sofia learnt about her past. She was one of the women who had been forced into prostitution. A Trojan, she had fallen in love with a Greek soldier and had left her home in disgrace, following him back to Greek shores. Uncaring and disrespectful, the soldier used her and later forced her to sleep with other men at his barracks, charging his friends for the pleasure and pocketing the proceeds for himself. He would beat her regularly so she would comply with his orders. One night, when she found she had fallen pregnant, he beat her half to death in a rage and she subsequently miscarried. The farmer found Cassandra whilst he drove his empty cart back from the market. She was apparently lying unconscious in a ditch beside the road where she had been dumped, left for dead, a mess of bruises and blood. It was uncertain whether she could ever conceive children now as the soldier had caused so much damage to her insides.

However, after all this Cassandra was still amazingly positive and always laughing. An inspiration to Sofia who's grief almost destroyed her: for a couple of weeks she would not get out of bed - the physician called it a brain fever – an even though she was already too thin from being imprisoned by the Greeks, she lost a lot more weight, hardly eating. Cassandra had sat at her bedside during these dark days, holding her hand and keeping Sofia company, willing her through the depression. She was an excellent storyteller, full of funny tales and was brilliant at mimicking people – she had the farmer down to a tee, the wonky smile, his slight limp, everything. She often admitted to Sofia that her joviality was her way of coping: "If you don't laugh about what life brings you than you will waste all your time crying – and where is the use in that" she would say. She was also very frank about her experiences as a prostitute, often shocking her friend with revelations about things Sofia did not even know was possible for men and women to do with their mouths, hands, and bodies. "A few tips to keep your future husband happy!" Cassandra would exclaim with a cheeky wink whilst Sofia sat stunned, her hand covering up her open mouth, giggling.

Husband – what a distant, girlish dream. Cassandra was still positive that she would find love again and perhaps marry whereas Sofia had resigned herself to the fact that she would remain a spinster. Priorities had changed and whimsical thoughts of love and marriage were simply not of interest to her any longer. Sofia felt that she would never love again after all that had happened – it had changed her. Besides, she did not feel as much curious wonderment about the world, she wasn't so foolish, so recklessly brave or naïve.

In the dormitory, Cassandra had just finished drawing a comb of animal bone through her long brown hair:

"Sofia ... What happened to you?" She whispered to her friend thoughtfully. Typical for her to pick such a strange time to ask.

"What do you mean?" Sofia tried to play dumb, casually taking the comb from Cassandra's hand, unravelling her own braid and running it through her tangles. It had rained that day and the damp made Sofia's hair awfully curly and clumpy.

"Why are you here? What's your story? You have never talked about it ... I know it might be painful but perhaps talking about it will help ... you bottle things up too much. Your eyes always look sad."

Sofia sighed to herself despondently and stopped combing, dropping her hands into her lap. She was bursting to tell Cassandra but Achilles words about keeping everything a secret echoed around her mind. Cassandra was right, she did bottle everything up, corked tightly inside – pouring it all out and talking about it would perhaps quell the horrible memories and stop the nightmares. And she felt that she owed it to her friend to be honest after she been so open and frank about her past.

But she couldn't tell her. Not everything anyway.

"...All I know about you is what you have told me about your life in Troy; the school, your village ... and that you arrived here just over a year ago, after walking for miles, knocking on the door in the early hours of the morning. You said you were lost and in need of food and shelter....I was already here remember." Cassandra continued, trying to work out Sofia's story in her own mind, thinking that her friend would not give anything away as usual.

These were not the full facts of course; Sofia had knocked on the door of the villa in the early hours of the morning. But she hadn't walked for miles – Achilles had personally taken her there, she had ridden with him for two days. He dropped her off at the end of the long tree-lined avenue that led up to the main courtyard and the villa front, well out of sight and sound.

Cassandra was still jabbering away trying to persuade her friend to talk, not so much in a whisper this time. Sofia watched Aethra, who lie in the bed next to Cassandra, roll over, frowning. She was still asleep but a little disturbed by the talking.

"... I mean, there must have been a man ....!"

"Why do you say that Cassandra?!" Sofia smiled.

"Oh come on, don't insult my intelligence now! And why wouldn't you? You are a pretty girl. I mean, for example, Peisander the shepherd who works in the lower field does not stop making eyes at you!" she grinned wickedly.

"Cassandra!" Sofia exclaimed incredulously, still smiling "You are going to make me blush!"

"Come on, we are sisters! Tell me!"

Cassandra always called Sofia her sister, even though they looked nothing alike. She was a lot taller with a more athletic build than Sofia. Her face was thin, cheekbones jutting out, a pointed chin, and a longer nose. Her hair was thinner, darker and poker straight.

Sofia sighed again. Cassandra was not about to give up. This was difficult.

"Was he a soldier? Your man?"

Sofia could do nothing but nod in reply.

"I bet he was handsome!" Cassandra exclaimed in a hissing whisper, grinning and clapping her hands together in a curiously silent way, excited that Sofia had given her a clue.

Surely keeping his identity a secret could not hurt.

"Oh yes. He had a mane of dark curly hair and the darkest eyes to match ... almost black." Sofia smiled a little as she imagined him.

"And I bet his body was even more handsome ...!" Cassandra naughtily added, nudging her friend with her elbow.

"Cassandra!"

Sofia was definitely blushing now - but not just because of her friend's cheeky comments. She remembered Hectors naked body as well as his face: the tanned skin, the muscley arms, broad shoulders and chest, the way his hip bones jutted out a little, the thick columns of his thighs that joined with his tight buttocks and his taught stomach with a trail of dark hair leading down to his groin.

"Like the marble statues of gods and heroes that stand near the Scythian gates of Troy" Sofia sighed dreamily in response, holding the comb tightly in her hand. It was the only way she could think of describing him – in a non-titillating manner of course.

Cassandra laughed mischievously. The laugh was so loud Aethra shifted over restlessly in her bed again:

"With a much more impressive manhood I hope!"

Sofia rolled her eyes at Cassandra's nerve ... but she was laughing too. Her smile gave the true answer away.

"What happened ...?" Cassandra was serious this time, her large brown eyes narrowing in concentration: "... Did he forsake you?"

"No. The Greeks killed him." Sofia answered carefully, her eyes gazing into the distance and her face dropping as she remembered that terrible moment.

"How can you be sure?"

Sofia looked straight at her friend this time:

"Because I was there. I saw. They stabbed him in front of my very eyes."

Cassandra began to wish she had never pushed the subject as she watched Sofia's eyes quickly fill with tears. She sat herself next to Sofia on her bed, taking the comb from her hands and running it through her hair for her, trying to comfort her.

"Oh Sofia. I'm sorry ... did you love him?"

"Yes." Sofia's voice wavered a little as she brushed away an escaped tear with the back of her hand, not really wanting to cry.

"And did he love you?"

It was a question Sofia had often secretly asked herself:

"I don't know. We were not really acquainted for that long. I only spent one night with him, in an intimate sense. He was my first. My only. We knew time was not on our side so we made love ... without thinking of the consequences."

"Well ..." Cassandra whispered brightly, trying to cheer Sofia up as she moved back on her own bed to face her. She took her friend's hands in hers. Sofia's were smaller, stouter. "... I'm sure he waits for you, in the next life."

Sofia nodded in response, a lump still in her throat. He wouldn't be waiting, she thought. He would finally be back in the arms of his wife, wherever that may be – an idea that was not particularly painful to Sofia. In fact, it had given her comfort to think that Hector had finally found the peace he craved.

She had thought about Hector every day of course. She grasped onto to her memories tightly, to her as precious as the air she breathed.

It was the little things she liked to remember best: his funny sticky-out ears and the nose that had been broken probably more times than even Hector could remember; the position of every scar and mole on his body; how he would rub his eyes like a child when he was tired; how his hands were strong yet so gentle; how it felt to have him inside of her.

She could never forget him.

She thought about when she first met him, unconscious and filthy on the cell floor. How he had been nothing more than a ragged wild animal, rude, aggressive and proud. What a contrast that was compared to the night they had spent together. Affectionate, gentle ... and very sensual. It had always amazed Sofia that this man who was a renowned warrior, who had killed many men, could be so tender. Mindful that she was a virgin, he had been so concerned that he might hurt her. He had spent a long time kissing her, relaxing her, readying her for him. She remembered it was a little sore at first but she soon began to enjoy the exquisite sensations his body was providing. She had been nervous, not knowing how to please him but he was wonderfully patient, guiding her, showing her how to pleasure him too.

Did he sleep with her because he felt sorry for her? Or was it just for the physical release? Perhaps he did have feelings for her, it was hard to tell. Whatever the answer she never regretted a moment she had spent with him.

"It looks like it's going to rain ... I'm going to take the little ones indoors." said the farmer's wife, suddenly waking Sofia out of her daydreams.

As she spoke she halted her grinding, sighed heavily in relief and lifted her large rump from the milking stool, bending slowly to pick up the wicker basket. The younger baby raised his little podgy arms to her as she lifted the basket, dribbling and smiling, his brown eyes darting all over her face. The farmer's wife widened her wrinkled eyes at him and grinned animatedly in response then signalled for the girl to roll up the blanket and follow her to the villa with the toddler in hand. It was a good five minute walk down the avenue to the villa and Sofia was not sure if they were going to make it in time, she could already hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. One of the babies had started to cry, alarmed at the sound of the thunder and Sofia watched the farmer's wife disappear behind a tree as she stepped onto the avenue, making her way home with the basket safe in her arms, rocking it soothingly.

"If it's going to rain, we had better sweep this grain up into our baskets and get it safely dry into the silo". Sofia added sensibly to her winnowing partner, bending down to scoop up as much grain as she could with one of her paddles, sweeping it into a basket meant for apples. Smaller pieces of grain slipped rebelliously back onto the ground from in between the wicker weaves.

Her winnowing partner, Cassandra, stood up straight, wiped her forehead tiresomely with the back of her hand and pulled the scarf from her head. She hated wearing it even though it was supposed to stop the chaff getting into her hair. It invariably didn't and she would spend hours picking the little husks from her tresses. She watched Sofia busily sweep up the grain – she knew better then to get involved with her friend when she was on a mission like that; she could be quite pernickety and bossy – it was better just to leave her to it.

The sound of drumming hooves drew Cassandra's attention away from Sofia, her eyes focussing on the avenue which ran directly beside the yard they were working in. The drumming became louder, faster as the horses approached. A couple more of the women that were working in the same yard, grinding or pulling the ears and stalks from the grain, stopped their chore and looked to the road suddenly as the noise drew close. Cassandra wiped her hands on her apron and lifted her hand over her brow, shielding her eyes from the hazy light, trying to gain a better view.

Two riders rushed past them in a blur of bronze and horse hair towards the villa. Sofia who was previously too engrossed in her task finally heard the hooves and looked up from the ground, dropping her paddle.

"What was that?!" She exclaimed, startled, to no-one in particular. She had not looked up in time to see them pass.

"Two riders ... pretty important looking if you ask me!" Cassandra was obviously excited, judging by the tone of her voice. They did not get many visitors to the villa.

"They looked like soldiers to me ... they were wearing armour ..." One woman offered matter-of-factly, as she was hastily scooping flour into a bowl with her bare hands.

"I wonder what they want ..." Sofia said quietly, furrowing her brow as she stood there. A few light drops of rain started to fall but she didn't notice. She suddenly wasn't worrying about the grain anymore.

The woman shrugged as she stood and picked up her bowl of flour, unhooking the bottom of her gown from her sandals:

"Probably just a place to stay for the evening ...."

A few Greek soldiers had passed that way since the end of the war on their way back home. The farmer was more than happy to provide them with lodgings for the night in trade for exciting tales of the battlefield as his own two sons had sadly never returned from combat. No side truly won the war: a truce had been called after the tyrant Agamemnon had been slaughtered in a great battle before Troy's high walls. His brother Menelaus had returned quietly to Sparta with his tail between his legs. Other than that, no other news had reached the farm. Sofia had often wondered what had happened to Achilles – did he die fighting or did he win back his beloved Breseis after all? She hoped for the latter. She had also not heard a word of Troy, of any victorious celebrations or about Hectors funeral. Strange, they would have mourned him for weeks - perhaps they had never found his body.

"I'm sure they were not Greek .... Their armour looked Trojan if you ask me." Cassandra said quietly, her face suddenly serious.

"How would you know? Oh yes, Cassandra I forgot you were the expert on everything to do with soldiers!" The women jokingly taunted as she sauntered past and steeped onto the avenue on her way back to the villa, hugging the bowl in her arms.

But Cassandra did not laugh along with her, something that was completely out of character. She had seen Sofia's expression. One of alarm - her eyes wide and her skin turning white.

"I know Trojan armour ... the bigger one ... his helmet was bright bronze, plumed with a tail of horse hair. Greek helmets are crested, not plumed." She whispered to Sofia.

Trojans visiting: what did it all mean? Cassandra thought. Sofia knew. It was the day she had dreaded and feared, the day Achilles had warned her may come. They had finally found out about her relationship with their prince, they had come to question her. Her heart felt heavy, her limbs froze.

She was discovered.


	11. An Unlikely Union 11: The Trojans

An Unlikely Union 11:

Quick Comment: This is it - this is the very last chapter! I'm sorry it's taken so long ... I found this one the most difficult and I'm still not sure if I'm that happy with it but never mind ... was conscious of having a happy ending with a bit of drama whilst tying all the ends together. Warning: It is seriously long because of this! But keep with it ...

Reviews as always please .... and for those who want an 'uncensored' version of Chapter 8, I am just tidying it up, it'll be on it's way soon.

Enjoy ... for the last time "sob!" :o(

The Trojans

Cassandra furrowed her brow in concern, almost mirroring Sofia's worried expression:

"Sofia? What's wrong? Is there something you haven't told me?"

Before Sofia could answer, the farmer's wife came trundling down the avenue, as fast as her little plump legs could carry her, her jolly face beetroot red and wobbling as she puffed through her mouth with sheer effort.

"Sofia! Sofia! Come quickly, you are required at the house!" She was waving her arms for attention and shouting breathlessly.

Sofia looked to Cassandra, her eyes full of doubt. It was what she had been expecting, to be summonsed. But she felt hesitant and did not want to face these men, in fact she feared it - but she knew she had no choice but to do so. Cassandra could see her friend needed support, whatever was happening. She smiled cheerfully and held out her hand to Sofia. Thunder rolled again overhead and the sky drew dark grey, heavy with rain clouds.

"Don't worry. The storm will pass." Cassandra said poignantly.

Sofia took her hand, grabbing it tightly and Cassandra led her down the avenue towards the villa entrance, running past the farmer's wife, mud splashing up their ankles.

In the courtyard before the villa entrance, a stable boy was lifting the leather bridles from the magnificent horses, one silver-white, the other a shiny brown. The boy was almost too short to reach their thick muscley necks and he stood balanced on tiptoe to hook feedbags over their noses. The horses munched away happily as he led them to the stable building, on one side of the courtyard so they could take a well-earned rest.

Cassandra continued to lead and Sofia trailed behind, trying to buy as much time as she could to decide exactly she was going to say to these men, breathing deeply to slow her racing heartbeat. Cassandra marched purposely through the rose covered archway and towards the already open door determined and curious all at the same time, grasping her reluctant friend tightly at the wrist - so much so Sofia thought that she might bruise. Both girls gasped after the exertion of running down the lane, their deep breaths echoing around the wooden-beamed reception room. It smelt homely, of cooking broth and was already full of people – the men had drawn quite an audience. Most of the other women had arrived before Sofia to get a look at these strange visitors, giggling and chatting excitedly amongst themselves, staring at the men in wonder.

One man stood to the side of the room, leaning his hand leisurely against the old wooden sideboard, studying with a degree of curiousness several domestic objects that messily lay on it: a large spoon, a couple of wilting daisies that one of the children had picked from a field, an old hairpin and some pieces of flint the farmer must have had in his pocket. The man's bronze helmet was carefully placed beside these, a shining contrast to the muddle of bits and pieces. Sofia soon realised that the women were shyly giggling amongst themselves about him in particular – he was strikingly handsome, beautiful in fact. Young, perhaps mid-twenties, slim with dark curls framing his big brown eyes, long lashes, a nose that was perfectly balanced with the rest of his features and cheekbones so chiselled that they could probably cut ice.

The other man stood in the centre of the room, deep in conversation with the farmer. As Sofia moved closer she could see this did not appear to be uncomfortable or even formal; they appeared to chat with ease. The farmer was smiling and nodding whilst the man was explaining something, using his hands expressionately. Like the other man, he wore full armour but he was taller and bigger than his counterpart. Imposing with a peculiar air of nobility about him - perhaps because of the way he held himself or perhaps because he still wore his helmet: a huge, domed bronze affair topped with a great plume of black horse hair, like Cassandra had said. The helmet obscured most of his features, curving over the brow, around the cheekbones, a guard hiding his nose and upper mouth. The horse hair swished about gracefully as he moved his head in conversation. As Sofia drew slowly closer, the man stopped talking suddenly, staring at her, almost right through her. It made her uncomfortable and she lowered her eyes, pulling the headscarf from her hair, embarrassed of her dishevelled appearance.

"Ah ... here she is!" The farmer exclaimed nervously, rubbing a patch of grey-brown bristly beard thoughtfully. He was still smiling but eyeing Sofia in a strange way as if he was trying to work out what this little visit was all about:

"Sofia, this gentleman would like to speak with you ... well go on child, don't be scared!" He continued, ushering her towards the man with a sweep on his hand.

Sofia immediately bowed dutifully to the figure before her, head lowered and she remained crouched at his feet:

"My lord."

The man continued to stare.

"You of all people do not have to bow to me." he said quietly, after a short and uncomfortable pause.

His voice seemed somehow familiar. Sofia looked up at him as she crouched there although she knew it was rude to make eye contact with such an obviously important man - she found his words to be a strange informal thing to say. She narrowed her eyes at him, curious then self-consciously stood again.

"I promised that I would find you, whatever happened." The man continued, a smile breaking out on his lips. Sofia remained motionless, confused. It couldn't be.

"You do not recognise me? Oh. My helmet. Where are my manners?" He muttered nervously. He lifted it from his head with both hands, his face emerging slowly; dark curls unleashed and dropping around his face and shoulders.

Sofia's legs turned to jelly and her heart was pounding so hard that her gown was visibly fluttering. She felt breathless, dizzy. Was she going to faint? Breathe deeply Sofia, breathe deeply.

Her mind must have been playing tricks.

It was not possible.

The man who stood before her was Hector.

She stuttered for a few seconds before she finally managed to get her words out:

"I must be dreaming!"

"No. This is real. I am real. I promise you." Hector laughed, placing his helmet carefully on the floor. She watched him in amazement as if she was seeing a ghost.

"But ... but they stabbed you. I thought you died." She said softly, her eyes fast welling up with tears as she stood static. Her emotions were about to burst. The tears brimmed over and a couple of drops slid easily down her cheeks.

Hector said nothing; instead he slowly unbuckled the leather strap on one shoulder of his breastplate, pulling it back and lifting the soft blue undershirt up to display his defined abdominal muscles, a little trail of dark hair leading to his groin. He held up the shirt with one hand and ran his fingers over a raised pink scar to the left and just underneath his navel to demonstrate that he wasn't a spectre or a figment of her imagination. Sofia blinked hard as she tried to focus, the tears blurring her sight. She could still see little bumps surrounding it, where the stitches had been, where they had mended him. He then dropped the shirt and buckled his breastplate back into place.

"I survived."

Sofia could not say anything. Without a sound, she stepped forward quickly, flinging her arms around him so forcefully that she almost knocked him backwards. The side of her face was pressed tightly to his chest, her lungs filling with his familiar smell. She listened to his heartbeat as if she needed proof that he really lived, squeezing him hard, not wanting to ever let go. He laughed a little tinkling laugh at her definite, vigorous show of acceptance then wrapped his big arms tightly round her in return, burying his head into her hair, closing his eyes in joy. He could feel that she was shaking, crying, happy.

They held each other for what seemed like an age. The farmer signalled silently with his raised eyebrows and ushering hands that it was time for the others to leave the room and give the strange couple some privacy. In her elation, Sofia had completely forgotten about the gathered audience. The inhabitants of the farm slowly, nosily left, - now even more curious about the Trojan visitors after gossip that quickly spread round the room like a brush fire about the men being famous Princes of Troy. The other Trojan tapped Hector on the arm to get his attention. Hector opened his eyes, dark pupils dilating and he quickly lifted his head from where it lay on Sofia's as if he had been suddenly woken from a lovely dream. This still did not disturb Sofia, who continued to hold onto him tightly.

"Brother ... I will leave too, with your consent of course." The young man said brightly.

"Yes Paris, that is fine."

The room was now silent except for the pot of broth bubbling on the hearth, popping and steaming in the corner.

"Let us sit Sofia. You've had a big shock; you look like you need it." Hector said, signalling to the empty bench that lay under the window, a long plump cushion lying across the seat

The herb garden outside was running wild, a few stray tendrils of dark green rosemary intruded through the window and reached up as if it wanted to touch the ceiling.

"You are shaking just as much as me!" She exclaimed happily, pulling away and leading him to the seat. They had so much to talk about, where could they possibly start?

"Let me look at you ...Oh Sofia, you are such a sight for sore eyes, I have been searching for you for so long ...." He said, still smiling broadly as they sat, the cushion yielding pleasantly under their combined weights.

They sat close, legs touching and hands grasped tightly, observing each other in detail as if they both could not quite believe they were finally reunited. Hector reached up and stroked Sofia's hair from her face - pulling her head scarf off as quickly as she had a few minutes previous caused the short layers around her face to escape messily from her tight braid. He affectionately picked from her hair the odd husk of chaff that was hiding in her tresses, looking at them in puzzlement before flicking them away.

"You look so different!"

Sofia wrinkled her nose at his comment. Was that a good or a bad thing? He laughed happily at her adorable expression; he could see she did not know how to take it. He lent forward to kiss her forehead reassuringly. His lips felt sensually firm.

"I mean, you look so beautiful ... although you were before. But now you look so well, so healthy ...." He explained.

He was finding it difficult to articulate, she could tell ... he was starting to babble. Who would have thought it – Prince Hector of Troy, nervous! But Sofia knew what he meant - the face he remembered was pallid, gaunt, and dirty. Now it was rounder and fuller. Her cheeks and nose were sun-kissed from a summer working in the fields; it gave her delicate pale skin a healthy glow and tiny freckles. Her blue eyes sparkled as she watched him. Hector looked different too. She ran her fingers gently around his face as she studied it, needing to touch him for a sense of reality. She ran them over his brow and, as he closed his eyes in pleasure at her touch, she drew her thumbs softy over his eyelids then out and around to his cheekbones, over his beard and down to his mouth, running them back and forth over his lips. He looked positively handsome, so much so it took her breath away. He was clean, no more scars, bruises or blood. His beard and had been neatly trimmed, his hair was no longer unruly although a little lighter than she remembered, a little more redder, probably bleached by the sun. It was secured at the nape of his neck by a gold band, the shorter curls framing his face with a few small ornamental braids, also decorated with tiny gold bands that ran back from his temples - a decoration customary for royal men of Troy. His dark eyes were shining as he watched her back. She also noticed tiny wrinkles beginning to appear around them, just like any middle-aged man might have, betraying his age. She loved all the little quirks of his features the best.

Her heart pounded happily. When Sofia had met him all that time ago in the cell, he looked like a wild animal. But now he definitely looked like a prince. Dignified. It was still the face that she remembered and adored. But something was missing – that sorrowful frown had gone.

"How did you know I was still alive? How did you find me? .... I have so many questions ...!" She exclaimed, still holding his face in her hands.

"I've been looking for you for almost three months, since the war ended."

"Did you fight in the last battle? Before the walls of Troy? I bet it was you who slew Agamemnon...." She gabbled excitedly, moving her hands from his face and grasping both of his hands tightly, their fingers locking.

He shook his head:

"I was just fit enough to fight but it was not me who killed Agamemnon. It was Achilles."

Sofia's head was swimming, her disorganised thoughts spiralling round in her head like a vortex. Achilles?

"Wait ... wait. This is all too much for me to take in Hector! The shock of seeing you has almost done me in! Start from the beginning. Start from where I left you with blood pouring from your stomach..." She pleaded breathlessly with excitement.

Hector thought for a moment: "Well, a big chunk of my memory is missing; all I can tell you is what was relayed to me. I fell unconscious just after you were taken from the boarding house. I thought I was dead ... all I could see was the brightest white light, it shone so forcefully I could see nor feel anything. But the next thing I knew I was back in Troy, my concerned family in vigil around my bedside. I have never felt so dazed, so bewildered in my life. Apparently Paris and his men arrived at the boarding house just after Agamemnon's men - they had been trailing around Greece for days searching for me ... they vanquished the soldiers and managed to stem my bleeding. My brother bought me home. I was unconscious for weeks in a deathly fever, my father called on the best physicians in the whole of Troy but none of them could help or thought that I would pull through. But against all the odds, here I am." He shrugged. There was nothing more to tell about this point of his life, he simply could not recall any of it.

"The gods do truly love you ... you seem to have the nine lives of a cat!" Sofia laughed.

Hector smiled:

"Indeed. It seems that I am the luckiest man that walks this earth." He added thoughtfully, looking straight at her and squeezing her hand, not only referring to his brushes with death but also to how he had finally found his Sofia.

She squeezed his hand back happily, gazing at him in adoration. She was still half-sure that she would wake up at any moment.

"Anyway, the fever left me and my wounds healed just in time for me to lead my men in to battle. It was an easy victory: the Greeks were no longer diligent, growing weary of the war and of their leader. It seems Achilles was the most tired of the king's antics ... I am not quite certain of the details but I think Agamemnon had riled him for the last time, causing Achilles' patience to finally break. With their war-mongerer leader dead, the Greeks were happy to leave our shores and return to their wives and children ... and believe me, my men were happy to let them flee without contest. My father honoured Achilles: but all the gold in the palace vaults could not appease him. Instead, he asked for my cousin Briesis as reward and much to our surprise, she accepted without protest. With their ship waiting in the bay, my cousin bid us a tearful farewell. When it was my turn to wish her well, she secretly pressed a note in my hand. I read it that evening in the privacy of my chamber. In Briesis' own fair hand, it simply said: 'Sofia is alive and well, living on a farm in the north-east of Greece. No harm came to her'. I do not know how she knew of your existence, I but I guessed Achilles had a part to play. My heart immediately soared; the words in her letter were such a comfort to me. But my soul could not rest until I found you again. I was almost ready to give up; my brother and I have visited almost every farm in the region but to no avail! Until today."

But Sofia's smile dropped despondently. She was confused. The doubts she had harboured about Hectors true feelings came back to haunt her. Why would the prince of Troy be concerned with a lowly farm-girl?

"But ... if you knew I was safe, why bother trying to find me?"

Hector smiled broadly at her uncertainty, squeezing her hands even more tightly, trying to find the right words to explain.

"Oh Sofia! If only you knew. I have constantly worried about you all time we have been apart! I have missed you so much it physically ached inside of me..." He gasped then managed to regain his composure, suddenly seeming more nervous. He looked away for a few seconds, deep in thought:

"Sofia - I promised I would find you remember? A Prince of Troy always keeps his word. I have not stopped thinking about the night we spent together since we have been parted, you know."

Sofia sighed and remained silent for a long time, her face frowning, her nose wrinkling again. So, it was just her body he craved. The thought of being only his lover, a concubine for his bed did not appeal to her. But she was in no way good enough to be anything else to him; she wasn't a lady or a princess. How would she ever be accepted or feel comfortable at the Trojan court? And what if he re-married? She could not stand it if he were to share his body with her but his mind with another.

"Hector ... I have no wish to be your mistress."

"No, no. You misunderstand. It is not just for your body that say that. Come back to Troy with me as my wife ... I have my father's consent." He said seriously, carefully, his eyes burning into hers. He had obviously been practising this sentence for some time.

Sofia did not feel wholly elated. She didn't smile, hold him or kiss him like Hector had expected. She just sat there, still and silent, gazing to the floor consumed by thoughts. She let go of his hands and let them rest in her lap, drawing them both into empty fists. It was not that she would not love to be his wife – it was a fantasy she had never dare imagine ... but there were so many things to consider now, there were complications in her life that he may not accept or understand. He watched her carefully, not comprehending her cold reaction. The frown returned.

"What is it?" he asked suddenly, his brow furrowed.

"Hector, I am happy here." She sighed, her eyes sad.

Hectors heart sunk. Things just wouldn't do without her. And it would be so embarrassing to return to Troy without the woman he had started this quest for, without the woman he loved.

"But you work on a farm!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Would you not rather be a princess than a slave?!" He spoke a little arrogantly, impatient and unthoughtful.

Sofia rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, angered by his haughty comments:

"I am no slave here; I can leave whenever I choose. Besides, it's good for the soul to keep the body – and mind - busy. I could not sit on a silk cushion all day a let some poor servant dress me, feed me and practically do everything for me!" Her eyes were fiery, her voice loud. She pounded one fist onto her lap hard.

Hector looked away from her despondently, his eyes fixed blankly on the far corner of the room. He watched long abandoned feathery cobwebs billow in the breeze then he rubbed his face with both hands, in frustration rather than in weariness. He hadn't meant to upset her.

"You do not love me then." He said quietly after a short silence. He stated rather than asked as if he had already made his mind up.

Sofia was touched and flattered that he looked so crestfallen. He must have thought that she was rejecting him. Her countenance softened and she took his hand again, a gesture of comfort.

"Hector ... if I could only explain in words how I feel for you. I am deeply in love with you, and I always have been, since the first time I ever set eyes on you." She explained softly.

Hector looked mystified:

"What, nothing more than a naked, dirty wretch lying on a cell floor?" He shrugged, his hand loosening on hers.

She smiled as she thought about it. She didn't actually mean that moment; she had meant the time she had been mushroom picking and had secretly spied on the Princes as they passed by during their hunting trip, many years ago. But there was no time to explain that now.

"I would adore you if you were fat, hairless and covered in boils!" She joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

But Hector did not find it amusing, too distracted by the important matter at hand.

"Well there must be someone else ... are you married? Engaged?" His eyes turned black as he became more agitated and impatient, snatching his hand away from her grasp.

He was hurt and unable to deal with the rejection. His defensive body language distressed Sofia; it made her heart felt heavier then the stone pestle the farmer's wife was using earlier. Maybe she wanted to cry, she couldn't tell. There was no easy way of explaining.

"No. I am neither married nor engaged. There is only you in my heart and it has always been that way. But there is someone else I have to consider ..."

Hectors furrowed brow was the deepest she had ever seen it. His mind raced faster than the river Scamander flowed; he did not understand what she was trying explain. The room grew uncomfortably silent. In all the dreams she had about him over the last year, everything was perfect, a true happy ending. But reality was so different, so much more problematical. Hector watched Sofia closely as she stood without a word, smoothed down her gown and quietly paced over to the hearth. With a cloth in hand she lifted the huge pot of broth from the fire, standing it on the stone hearthside to cool. It had been cooking so long that a skin of semi-transparent fat had began to form over the top of the liquid, causing a dry crust around the edges of the pot. Hector watched her conscientiously perform this domestic task: the pot looked heavy but she did not appear to struggle with it – she was still delicate looking but as strong as an ox, just as he remembered. She then turned her attentions to a wicker basket lying on a high-backed chair near the hearth. Hectors sharp eyes had spotted it when he had entered the room; something was moving in it – he assumed at the time that it contained new-born puppies or perhaps a lamb to be nursed, rejected by its mother and being warmed by the fire. With her back to him, Sofia slowly bent down to it and lifted something, swathed in fleecy blankets. She held the bundle snugly in her arms as she slowly approached Hector, beaming at whatever it was, bouncing it gently in her arms.

As she drew herself closer, Hector could see protruding from the blanket a little arm, a tiny hand, a fuzzy dark head ... he swallowed hard. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment.

"Hector, I want you to meet your son ...." Sofia smiled, sitting next to Hector again with the child in her arms.

She pulled the blankets away from the baby's face gently with her fingertips, gazing lovingly at him. The baby had obviously been asleep. He woke at his mother's touch and gave a huge, prolonged yawn, his dark eyes beginning to focus on her. She affectionately stroked the chubby face and the mop of dark hair then she looked to Hector for a response - he was suddenly awfully quiet. Her heart melted when she saw his face. His was visibly shaking; his eyebrows rose in amazement and his black eyes appeared to be filling up with tears. She felt sorry for him; he was obviously and understandably completely stunned. This was not the way she had planned to tell him, not that she had a plan at all of course. Less then an hour ago she believed Hector to be dead.

"His name is Scamandrius .... I thought it sounded suitably regal." She smiled nervously, trying to break the ice. "Here, do hold him I'm sure he would love to meet his father properly ...."

Hector still said nothing, staring at Scamandrius as if he were a little miracle. He blinked hard and a single tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. He wiped it away quickly with the back of his hand, embarrassed. He hadn't cried since he was 10 years old, thrown from an obstinate horse and into some nettles, covering his whole body with bumpy stings. Sofia offered the baby to him, guiding his arms with one hand, showing Hector how to hold him right. Still shaking, Hector struggled and was a little clumsy at first, Scamandrius letting out a quick little cry in response to the awkward handling ... but his proud father did not seem to notice, still beaming at the child. He quickly got the hang of holding his son and Scamandrius stopped fidgeting and settled, gazing up at his father in wonderment, his brown eyes darting all over his face, gurgling gently.

"Scamandrius Hectorides ... the world's delight, as fresh as a pure shining star ...." Hector spoke softly, not taking his eyes from the child, his brown eyes brilliantly glowing.

Sofia's grinned as she watched father and son quickly bond, a beautiful sight. It was all so much more than she could ever have wished for; Hector to be alive, for Scamandrius to have a father, for Hector to accept him – it was all too much, she felt so happy she was sure she going to burst. Scamandrius reached up to his father's face, and explored the beard with his little podgy fingers in wonder. Hector laughed out loud at how adorably inquisitive his son was and reached instinctively for the baby's hand. Scamandrius clamped his tiny hand around his father's thick middle finger in response, holding it comfortably and tightly.

"He's strong!" Hector exclaimed suddenly to Sofia.

"Oh yes! He's growing very fast, he eats like a horse. I have a feeling he's going to be just like his father ...he's very like you all ready."

"He has my eyes." Hector noted in a whisper, still smiling at the child.

"Yes and your ears ...!" Sofia joked dryly. Hector laughed again, in no way offended by her comments - he could see what she meant.

Hector looked up from his son's face thoughtfully:

"I know you have had a shock to see me alive and well, but the gods know I have had one too in meeting this little one ... you must tell me all there is to know about my son .... How old is he?"

"Just over three months. You should have seen me when I was pregnant; my belly was huge even though he arrived a little earlier than expected. He was born one morning in late spring as I was taking a stroll in the orchard. I reached up to a low branch to pick an apple blossom from a tree when my waters suddenly, unexpectedly broke. There was no time to get back to the house, I went into labour very quickly - he had made up his mind that it was time to make his entrance into the world and he wasn't about to wait ... he also has his father's stubborn determination! Anyway, the farmer's wife heard my cries and my labour was over rapidly - he was delivered right then and there, under the apple tree." Sofia reached forward to stroke the baby's face as she relayed her story. Scamandrius was closing his dark eyes drowsily, totally relaxed in his father's arms.

"You must have been so scared ...." Hector said suddenly.

"I was terrified." Sofia answered immediately, narrowing her eyes as she remembered that spring morning. "Terrified that I might lose him. It's odd. When I first arrived here I did not realise that I was carrying your child and I grieved for you so greatly that it almost killed me. But then I discovered I was pregnant and it changed everything. Suddenly there was no time for self pity: this tiny life growing inside me was all that mattered. When he was born and I looked into his little wet and wrinkled features for the first time, I knew I hadn't lost you." A tear rolled down Sofia's cheek as she finished telling her story. She still remembered how helpless she had felt in the beginning, and how much she loved Scamandrius from the first day, more than anything.

"Why did you not bring him home to Troy, to claim his birthright as my heir?"

"I thought about it but I had to consider what is best for Scamandrius. I do not want him to be known as Prince Hector's illegitimate son."

"Illegitimate?! How can that be when I have asked you to be my wife, even before I knew of his existence?"

"I thought you were dead Hector. Imagine a ragged farm girl like me turning up unannounced at the Trojan court, claiming that my baby is the heir to the Trojan throne, even though he was born out of wedlock! Do you really think your father or brother would have believed me? They would have laughed in my face!"

"Perhaps they would not have accepted you but they would have accepted Scamandrius. Look at him! He is certainly his father's son! He should be raised as a Prince, not a farmer". Hector answered self-importantly, trying not to raise his voice and rouse his peacefully sleeping son who was still cradled in his arms.

"Do you really think I would allow anyone to take my son from me?! I would sooner die then lose him" Sofia answered furiously, her angry voice waking the child. How dare Hector speak to her like that or insinuate that her child could be taken away from her so easily!

Scamandrius whimpered in response, frowning just like Hector. Sofia lent over took him out of his fathers arms protectively, gently recovering Scamandrius with the blanket, tucking him in tightly. She sighed to herself, calming down as she watched his little face relax into serenity as he dropped off to sleep again.

"Look Hector, I am glad you have accepted him as your son, I was worried that you would not. I suppose being raised as a prince has its advantages but I also have a reason for not wanting our son to ever set foot in Troy. It is _because_ he is your heir. I want him to grow to be a normal man, to lead a simple life – which is not the life of a prince or a king. As a normal man he will not have all the duties that you have to face; he will not be expected to fight battles or do anything that would put his life in danger – I know that you, as the King's son, do not have that choice".

Hector looked at Sofia imploringly then back again to the sleeping child:

"But Sofia, it is his destiny; he has royal blood. My blood - for better or worse. I understand your hesitancy and fears, but it is for the gods to decide his ultimate future, not us."

He sighed defeatedly. This is not what he had a planned, not what he had wanted. He had not meant to upset Sofia and he cursed himself inwardly for being so harsh – he simply did not know who to convey how he felt. He could be so emotionally inept ... if only he had the wit and charm of his brother Paris! He stared into the distance for a moment deep in thought, gazing at the sooty hearth and the dying fire. A gust of wind whipped outside and the tendrils of rosemary encroaching into the room shivered in response. He looked right at Sofia, his dark eyes burning into her in that way that made her shiver, almost as much as the wind-swept rosemary:

"I know that perhaps I did not propose in the most romantic of ways and I apologise for that – I am a little overwrought by this whole situation. But I love you, that is why I have come to find you, that is why I want you to be my wife. I want to be able to make love to you every night and wake up next to you every morning. I want to be able to chat idly with you and rub your feet in the evenings. I want to take you riding on the beach. I want to be able to kiss the end of your nose every time you wrinkle it like that. I want to grow old with you. I cannot promise you that living at the palace will be very easy to begin with - you are strong willed and free of spirit, the obligations of a princess of Troy and the responsibility of running a household will not come naturally to you. But you – and our son – are dearer to me in this world over anything and I would not change you for the world. What I can promise you is that I will be a doting, faithful husband and father until the end of time." His eyes were earnest as he spoke, a smile breaking on his lips as he imagined their possible future together.

His words of total affection made her heart soar. But Hector interrupted before she could respond to him by a kiss or words of love in return:

"Take some time to think about it, please. Do not make any rash decisions and live your life full of regret. As for tonight, let us forget our troubles and celebrate our reunion ... and my handsome son! Now tell me about Achilles and how he came to bring you here. Something tells me you know more about his relationship with my cousin than you have so far let on! ..." He grinned reassuringly. It seemed that almost nothing could dampen Hectors ecstatic mood on that astounding evening.

--0--

Hector stood alone, his back against the wall sipping wine from a simple ceramic goblet - a silent, surly observer. He held one hand behind his back and pressed it against the rough, cracked plaster. It was a little damp; the room was full of people and the condensation from sweat, laughter and breath had magnetised magically to the cool walls. The joyful sound of many voices talking and laughing filled the night air, filling his ears like a million tinkling bells.

The farmer had decided to hold a spontaneous celebration in honour of his very special Trojan guests. Everyone who had anything to do with the farm were there: workers, merchants, family members - even the neighbours from a little hut-like farmhouse some twenty miles away had invited themselves along. All of the berry-stained, rotund barrels of wine had been lumbered up from the dank, dark cellar and almost a dozen lambs had been sacrificed, roasted and gratefully eaten, appetites whetted by a day of hard work in the fields and a few too many mouthfuls of wine. A few of the shepherds had brought along their drums or pipes and were playing a quaint but lively jig which added to the cheery atmosphere.

The room was full of bobbing heads as far as the eye could see - people young and old dancing and having fun. Hector smiled as he surveyed the crowd then laughed heartily as he watched a teenage farm girl, a wobbly blonde little thing who had seemingly overcome her shyness with excitement and wine, lunge for Paris' hand and whisk him to his feet, twirling him across the room and burying her red cheek into his chest. Of course, Paris was more than happy to oblige, laughing too.

The farmer had spent the first hour of the night continuously apologising for his humble farm, he seemed self-consciously aware that this party was nowhere as grand as a palace celebration might be. But in truth, Hector was really enjoying himself; it was so much more unpretentious and relaxed compared to a palace event. He watched people laugh, eat drink and dance like they had no care in the world. But he felt different. He did have cares that night; they worried him like a woodpecker niggles at tree bark. Perhaps Sofia was right - her words from earlier echoed in his mind. It would be a glorious world for Scamandrius to grow up in ... these nice people, this peaceful farm .... Hector stared at his feet, kicking his right heel against the toes on his left, fidgeting as he thought. Had he ever been that happy? He began to wish that he was just a farmer too, his only concern being for his wife, children and for the harvest, not for politics, war or the duty of being a Prince and Commander of the Trojan Army. Perhaps he could stay here with Sofia, never to return to Troy and throw off his obligations like a dirty, ripped cloak. But then he would be forsaking his beloved family and his loyal subjects, could he be so selfish? Besides, he knew nothing about farming. He drained the goblet slowly whilst deep in thought, bitty sediments of wine touching his lips then falling back down into the bottom. He carefully stood it on the sideboard, twisting round the stem broodingly then crossed his arms over his chest, an involuntary closed gesture. It mirrored the pose he had held on the night he had explained to his father about Sofia and how, in no uncertain terms, he was going to set out to find her, with or without his permission.

It had been at the grand celebration after the war had ended in the main hall of the palace. Food was plentiful, littering the long, clothed tables like scattered pebbles; wine was flowing freely like river water and laughter pierced the air, the noises bouncing off the tall, flamboyant ceiling mouldings and rich tapestries. The air smelt of a strange intoxicating mix - stale alcohol, burning charcoal, and the jasmine perfume of exotic dancing girls. The party was in full swing when King Priam noticed that his eldest son was stood alone in the far corner, watching proceedings rather too thoughtfully. Something was wrong; Priam knew well enough when Hector was troubled, he had seen that frowning face many times in his life before – as a baby when Hector had broken the head of his favourite horse-toy; The night he was informed by his father of the arranged marriage with the Princess of Thebe; when Andromache passed away; when Paris stole away Helen and bought her to Trojan shores; the night after he had slain Patroclus and before his ill-fated battle with Achilles.

Priam stood slowly from his high golden throne, his aged joints clicking. He slowly approached Hector, lifting his heavy cloak with one bony hand and weaving his way through drunken revellers and writhing dancers, occasionally being stopped to be admired and congratulated on his way. Priam always humoured his subjects but right at that moment but his real concern was for his son - and nobody would delay him from speaking with Hector. Hector did not notice his father's approach until Priam was standing almost right in front of him, his beautifully embroidered slippers coming into view as Hector stared at the floor.

"Beloved son ...." Priam smiled affectionately at Hector, holding out one hand as he approached. Hector bowed dutifully as Priam held his sons head, planting a loving kiss on his forehead. "Why do you not join in with the festivities? We have much to celebrate tonight ... Troy still stands; my son is alive and we finally have the peace that you have slaved so hard for. Are you not pleased our labours have been fruitful?"

"I am happy the war has ended, father." Hector answered not wanting to alarm the king, his dark eyes earnest.

"Then what troubles you Hector? The Trojans are at peace but you do not seem to be. You cannot hide it from me, I know you too well – precious son, trusted commander of my army ... my heir."

"We have peace, I am thankful for that ...but I still greatly desire peace in my heart, father. I cannot deny it." His dark eyes were downcast, lifeless. It made Priam's heart wrench to see his son look so forlorn.

"What can I do to make you smile again my son? I would give you the sun and moon if I could. What would give you inner peace?"

Priam's matured face appealed to Hector as he took hold of his son's hand. Hector studied his father's features, wrinkled with age like a waxy date, hair thinning, and beard grey and wispy, dark eyes which he had inherited. Priam had a formidable reputation but was a kind man inside, a good father. Hector adored and admired him - perhaps one day he would be just like his father, he hoped.

Hectors sad eyes drifted away as he thought. He had to be blatantly honest with his father, he could not lie:

"I desire nothing more than to grow old with a woman at my side and children playing at my feet."

Priam smiled at his son's answer, his hand still grasping Hectors large palm.

"I thought as much. I can see that in your face when you sometimes watch your brother happily canoodle with Lady Helen. I know you yearn for a woman's touch and support. Andromache's death was such a sad loss but she would not want you to die a lonely old man, you know – she would want you to find love again."

Hector shrugged and grasped his father's hand tighter:

"I know father. She made me promise her many times, as did I make her promise me that she would find love again if I died. That is why I must leave Troy, at least for a while. I have to find Sofia; it is what my heart tells me to do." He replied, looking for his father's blessing.

"Sofia?!" Priam exclaimed, dropping his son's hand in surprise: "The wench you babbled endlessly about whilst in your fever?! You are of pure Trojan blood, a prince. I do not understand ...you could have any woman you want ... why a pauper?"

Hector should have accepted at his father's rather unkind words but instead he became rather protective of the situation – and of Sofia. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest with such a force his robe displaced slightly at the shoulder.

"She is no wench or pauper father. She saved my life, kept me strong then healed my heart. I love her."

Priam said nothing, pondering his son's words. He had not seen Hector so passionate about something for a long time.

Hector continued, his eyes staring into the distance as he remembered her with ardour:

"You know, when I first laid eyes on her I was almost dead. The Greeks had beaten almost every breath from my body. She cradled me in her arms and I thought she was a divine vision, sent by the gods to watch over me."

"Then she must be a beauty?" Is as Priam could think to ask, raising both grey furry eyebrows, still stunned at Hectors apparent powerful emotions for this mysterious girl.

"Exceptional." Hector smiled broadly. She had looked absolutely beautiful as she slept on the night they had spent together. He had watched her for a long while.

"But she must be more than a pretty face for her to win your love ... I know you Hector, you are not like Paris, you are not only swayed by the flutter of long eyelashes and the wiggle of a pert bottom ...."

Hector laughed at his father's observation, his chest shaking. How true. He then straightened his face, looking into his fathers eyes in all seriousness.

"Oh father. She has fire in her belly and wings on her soul." Priam could see Hectors dead eyes come alive and shine as he spoke of her.

"Well ..." Priam said cheerfully as he put out his hand again, grasping Hector by the shoulder and shaking him slightly, a masculine show of affection "... in that case you had better find your Sofia. It pains me to see my sons unhappy and the gods know I pander to Paris enough – how can I allow him to steal Helen from Sparta, beginning the war but not give you my blessing to marry who you choose? My subjects think I am a war-hardened when in fact I am soft and love to spoil my beloved sons. I would do anything to see your smile again Hector. Go after her. And take that troublesome brother of yours with you. If you find her – and she reciprocates your love – you have my permission to bring her home and take her as your wife."

--0--

Sofia's head pounded - too much wine on an empty stomach the night before, never a wise idea. Not that she was much of a drinker – just one cupful made her giggly and her cheeks burning red. But last night, she had been too excited to eat, she remembered. Cloudy, translucent memories of the day before became clear and distinct as she woke woozily from her sleep.

Was it really true?

No, she must have just dreamt it.

Her eyes slowly opened and she stretched her arms languidly, the morning sunlight stinging her eyes. They watered like a sea sponge snatched suddenly out of a rock pool. Then she suddenly realised that the dormitory was very quiet – only the sounds of tiny birds singing their lungs out by the window sill could be only heard rather than the normal clatter-crash-chatting that filled the room of a normal morning as all the women were getting ready for work .... She sat up with a jolt, so quickly it made her comically dizzy, like the wine had made her last night. The dormitory was bathed in yellow-white sunlight and empty, all the women were already awake, probably out in the fields harvesting crops. Why didn't they wake her too? It was unlike Cassandra not to give her friend a quick nudge before breakfast if she slept in - although it was usually Cassandra who clinged onto her bed for a last few stolen minutes of sleep, not Sofia who was normally up with the larks. She sighed and shrunk back into bed.

How strange.

No. It WAS true. She remembered now. Hector was here! Her heart began to beat quickly in joy as she remembered, her memories overlapping excitedly in her mind, great flashes of beautiful colour and emotions. Hector had come for her; he had professed his love, asked her to marry him, held his son like he was the most precious thing on earth - more than she could ever dare to wish for. Her heart stopped fluttering however, when she recalled the quarrel they had over Scamandrius.

Oh yes. She was expected to give Hector a decision – go to Troy with him, be a dutiful wife with Scamandrius growing to be an obligated prince. Or stay at the farm; lead a simple life, free of all real worries and threat of death. What should she do? Why would the gods not guide her now?

But then she recalled a conversation she had with Paris during the party the night before. When Hectors little brother - as he called him - approached, Sofia had been watching totally mesmerized. She was observing Hector as he talked with the farmer across the other side of the crowded room. What were they chatting about? She couldn't make out their voices; they stood too far away .... but Hector was laughing so hard, at one of the farmer's daft jokes she assumed, that he had thrown his head back with mirth, his whole body shaking, his eyes scrunched up, his teeth flashing - a picture of happiness.

"What is it?" Paris had asked her, noting the look of astonishment in her blue eyes as she watched his brother.

"I have never seen him look like that before. I have never seen him look so happy." She exclaimed, not taking her eyes off Hector.

Paris followed her gaze and watched for a moment as he stood casually relaxed next to Sofia, a goblet in hand. He took a sip of wine, a film of red liquid covering his full, girlish lips for a moment before he licked it off delicately with his tongue:

"Sofia, I have not seen him that happy for a while either - it is you that has given him his smile back."

Goblet still in one hand he reached over with the other, taking her hand in his. She noticed his hands were not as big as Hectors broad palms, not as rough.

"You have truly bewitched my brother; he has not spoken or thought about anything else but you since I bought him back to Troy. And now he has discovered he has a son, a beautiful little baby by all accounts ... it is all he has ever wanted. He loves you Sofia and I am sure it was thoughts of you that kept him strong as he lay in that deathly fever for weeks. Come back with us sister and let him smile and laugh like that for the rest of his days, I beseech you." Paris squeezed her hand imploringly as he said this and she looked up at his handsome face, his dark eyes similar to his brother's.

So charming he could persuade Apollo himself to stop the sun from rising, she remembered thinking.

Scamandrius. That's why the dormitory was so quiet. She had not heard a peep, a happy gurgle or a cry from the cradle at the end of her bed at all, very unusual for him not to wake for his morning feed from his mother's breast. Sitting up again, she could see over the top of the little wooden cradle the farmer had somehow crafted out of old pieces of wood in the barn. The blankets in the cradle were empty. The little stone tiger that he loved to suck on was still there, lying discontentedly on its side. She flew out of bed like the autumn wind.

"Where is Scamandrius? Where is my son?" Sofia panicked, padding around in bare feet as she ran onto the landing. She almost crashed straight into one poor girl who going about her chores in a world of her own, carrying a full bedpan to be emptied.

"Lord Hector took the bonny boy for a walk early this morning. He did not want to wake you. I saw them about ten minutes ago heading for the stables." The girl stuttered, trying to avoid getting splashed by urine that was flying out in drops from the ceramic receptacle she carried.

--0—

As she slowly approached the stable door, she could hear a low murmur even before she could see Hector. He was talking in soothing tones to Scamandrius, she could tell. She lingered silently at the entrance, leaning against the rotting wooden door post, ruining a full night's work of some industrious spider who had built a web there. She watched. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the door from behind her, illuminating randomly, making ethereal floating particles of dust sparkle and glisten. Hector hadn't yet noticed her and he continued to talk to the child, pulling hilarious faces at Scamandrius as he held him tightly, comfortably. The baby gazed up adoringly at his father, his chubby legs kicking, gurgling and clapping his miniature hands in amusement ... this meant that he was happy. Hector was animatedly widening his eyes at the boy in praise, pulling his lips into a pronounced 'O' and 'Ah' shapes. She realised that they were standing by a silver-grey horse, tethered to the wall and she was happily, enthusiastically munching on a breakfast of fresh hay from the newly-harvested field. The majestic mare lifted her head to meet Hectors hand as he held it out to her, lowering her watery eyes and long eyelashes, whinnying contentedly at her master. Hector patted her nose for a moment then gently took Scamandrius' tiny hand in his, encouraging his son to touch the horse. The mare sniffed at the baby with huge fleshy pink nostrils, tickling his fingers, making him giggle.

But then Hector noticed Sofia standing there in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning sun, smiling at them. He swivelled his upper body to face her, leaning back slightly to handle the weight of Scamandrius. The baby still was still fascinated by the horse, ignoring his mother completely.

"I was just introducing Scamandrius to my horse, Whitefoot. She likes him so I can tell he will be quite the horse-master when he grows!" Hector exclaimed proudly.

Sofia said nothing, grinning at the happy scene. How strange to see the great Prince Hector, feared warrior, talking back to his son in baby-language, pulling stupid faces and grinning inanely with pride. How beautiful it was to see Scamandrius gaze at his father, blowing little spit bubbles in happiness as his Hector held his hand and bounced him in his arms.

"I have made my decision." Sofia said suddenly as she stood there.

Hector was stunned. He widened his eyes in anticipation - he had not expected an answer so soon, and definitely not at such an informal, peculiar moment.

"How could I deny a father of his son and my son of his father? And I don't think I could deny myself of you - I love you Hector whether you be a beggar, farmer or prince, it doesn't not matter to me. I would be honoured to be your wife."

Hector said nothing although his relieved exhaled breath and broad grin conveyed everything. He approached her slowly, the sparkling dust moving quickly by the air currents his body was causing, parting and moving out of the way. As she stood there in the doorway, he stood over Sofia. She looked up at him affectionately and he bent down, planting little gentle butterfly kisses all over her face. She closed her eyes blissfully to receive them. The baby was between both their bodies, watching his father and mother with his dark eyes, dribbling from his smiling mouth.

"I will come back with you on two conditions ..." Sofia whispered passionately as Hectors lips searched for hers.

"Anything ...."

"That you really do rub my feet every night" She joked .... And that my friend Cassandra comes with us...." She added more seriously.

Hector laughed, she could feel his warm breath all over her skin. He had not expected the first request but the second he had anticipated.

"Ah yes, Cassandra – a lovely girl, I talked with her last night. She seemed a little shocked to discover that I was your lover although she seemed so happy for us. Of course she may come with us you do not even need to ask!" He said before he bent down again and kissed her so fervently Sofia thought her knees were going to give way.


	12. An Unlikely Union 12: Fragments That Mak...

An Unlikely Union

_Hello again! Okay ... this is the chapter to finish this fic, Ipromise... _

_Written by popular demand! - thanks for everything guys!_

_It was nice to come back to it and I hope it draws it to a close properly._

_Written as a collection of Sofia's memories from the past year or so after her marriage to Hector._

(_For those who wanted an unedited copy of Chp 8, please let me know again via review ... it's finished and ready to be sent out.)_

12: Fragments That Make The Whole

Sofia waited. She sat on the bed patiently waiting for her husband, for Hector. She moved her hands, loose fists opening in her lap and sliding leisurely out, across the bed behind her to take her weight was she leant backward a little. The mattress felt soft, the sheets silky. Their marital bed. She suddenly looked across her right shoulder, looking to the side of the bed Hector always slept on. His pillow still had a tiny dent in it, where his head had lain. She sighed to herself sadly whilst stroking the surface of the bed with her hands rhythmically, deep in thought. Last night Hector had slept badly – he came to bed so late last night; Sofia had already been asleep herself a good few hours.

He had woken her as he had quietly pulled pack the covers and slid into bed next to her ... he must thought she was still sleeping, he couldn't see that her eyes had snapped open, her naked back was faced him. She sensed that he watched her for a while, propped on his elbow and then he put out his free hand to affectionately trail his fingers gently down her back before finally laying down himself.

But he had tossed and turned drifting in and out of sleep, his breathing erratic, kicking back the sheets with his legs, she remembered.

Then he was up early this morning, before she woke, just as the sun rose ... Sofia had walked out on to the cool balcony of their chamber, her head still full of sleep, just in time to see a little galloping speck in the distance, rapidly moving against the backdrop of the green plains and blue sparkling sea of Troy. Hector riding Whitefoot. The orange light of the born-again sun reflected beautifully on the horse's silver-white coat, flashing just like silver jewellery catching candlelight.

She knew why he did this, wallow in isolation – he needed to relax, needed space, needed escape .... just for a while, anyway. And it might be the very last time he would be able to ride alone, to have that freedom - for he was to be a Prince no more.

King Priam, Hectors father had died almost two weeks ago. It seemed that old age finally caught up with him. His decline had been rapid. One day he had been playing with his grandson, crawling nimbly under the long table in the banquet hall and pretending to be a dragon, the next day he was unable to get out of bed after suffering painful headaches. In fact, he wasn't able to get out of bed ever again, dying peacefully in his sleep just two days later.

However, his death was not unexpected ... he had been an elderly man after all. But it was if all Trojans had expected the gods to grant Priam immortality somehow, he had always displayed such vitality and strength. And under his rule Troy had become most influential and prosperous. He would be sadly missed by all. The Trojan people were still in the midst of mourning, the normally bright streets of the city now dark and sombre, black banners flying instead of the normal flags. Local craftsman were working day and night to finish a tall granite statue in Priam's likeness, to stand in the square, which was commissioned by his eldest son and heir.

Hector was distraught at his father's death but was not allowed to grieve - there was no time. He was expected to be dignified, organised ... he was about to be crowned king after all, next week when the customary three-week mourning period was over ... and there was lots to arrange and discuss with council. But Sofia could see in her husband's face that he was troubled by his beloved father's death, the weight of duty and self-doubt lay heavy on his brow. She could read him like a book. Sofia had been as supportive and understanding as a dutiful wife should be although she worried greatly about Hector, he bottled things up too much. He did not want to burden her with his problems, she could tell ... perhaps she should encourage him to talk - but then again she did not want to push the issue with him, it would make him even more introvert, she knew that.

She sighed to herself heavily, sitting forward and drawing her hands back into her lap. Hector had been right. Life in Troy was not always easy ... but the sublimely happy times always outweighed the bad.

She remembered when Hector had bought her to Troy and presented her to the royal court as his future wife. She remembered how nervous she had been walking up the long stone steps to the palace entrance, led formally by Hector. She had been dressed in a gauze-like white gown; it was as light and as beautiful as the clouds that hung in the sky. Her hair had been plated ornately at the front into snake-like twists around the temples, the length tumbling down her back and her blue eyes had been lined with black kohl, making them even more striking than before. She looked like a lady of Troy even though she certainly did not feel like it! She tried rather unsuccessfully to walk gracefully with poise, like a Trojan Princess should, rather than shuffle behind Hector like a nervous field mouse. He had sensed her anxiety and squeezed her hand in reassurance as he strode along, smiling broadly with pride.

He approached a tall, regal figure standing at the very top stair - the man's arms were wide in greeting, his thin hair grey, his cloak a luxurious red. As she raised her nervously lowered eyes, she noticed a beautiful golden crown resting on his wrinkly head. It was the King, Hectors father. Sofia took a deep breath and remembered that she shouldn't speak unless she was spoken to.

But there was no reason for her to be nervous of course. Priam had hugged her so tightly he almost squeezed every breath from her. He had welcomed her, called her 'daughter', kissed her hand, complimented her on her beauty and chided her jokingly for being so shy. Then Scamandrius had been presented to Priam - held up by his father proudly with both hands, the baby's little legs dangling.

His grandson had been the apple of his eye since the beginning and Priam had spoilt him rotten as much as his own sons, Paris and Hector.

Of course not everyone at the court had been so welcoming .... There were a few ladies of the court that treated Sofia with distain, giving her cold looks, laughing at her non-existent knowledge and lack of skill when it came to Trojan upper-class custom and protocol. They would whisper and gossip hidden in the dark corners and arches of the palace hallway whilst they thought that Sofia couldn't hear. A few of them were jealous that this mere ragged pauper had managed to snare the handsome, rich Prince of Troy - in fact some of them believed that she was some sort of evil sorceress who had weaved a love spell on him .... Sofia had overheard them say this herself, as she passed by with Scamandrius in her arms, to lay him down for the night. As she relayed this to Hector when they were finally alone in their chamber, the excitable little baby finally asleep, she hadn't ever heard him laugh so loud and for so long, it made the whole bed shake.

Their wedding day was another beautiful memory of course. They were married only a few days after they had returned to Troy – that was the way things were done at the palace. When the morning dawned - of the betrothal, the first few shafts of sunlight streaming into her room signalled the beginning of a long, tiresome day of preparation – it had taken hours for Sofia to bathe, dress, have her hair and make-up done, all meticulously performed of course.

She did not feel like herself any longer, more like a fragile doll of alabaster. The dress was lovely of course – white gauze, ornately embroidered all over with gold thread flowers and patterns, held at the shoulders by a pair of lovely gold brooches. "To go with your golden crown, my lady ..." One of the maids explained. Crown? She had been so nervous about the ceremony she had not given a second thought about officially being a princess. Her heart started to flutter and her head felt dizzy. Perhaps it was the early start and excitement that caused this ... actually, it more like her nerves. The maids were forced to sit Sofia down for a while and let her sip and few mouthfuls of wine so she would calm down.

The gown was heavy and made her shoulders ache a little then the maids slid so many golden bangles on her wrists that she made a strange jingling noise as she walked, as if she was wearing a hundred tiny bells. "How could being decorated garishly like a temple-offering be attractive?" she recalled thinking.

But Hectors face as he saw her in all her finery changed her mind. Fulfilled. He looked so handsome; in an equally heavy-looking robe draped complexly around his shoulders ... she remembered thinking he looked more comfortable in the simple vest and skirt he liked to go riding in. It was the first time she had seen a crown on his head, a golden circle of laurel leaves resting on his neat dark curls. In his hands he grasped another smaller circle of golden laurels leaves ... to crown Sofia with, to declare her as his wife and to pronounce her as a princess of Troy. Towards the end of the ceremony, as they stood there by the priest and in front of the altar in the great temple of Apollo, Hector had beamed completely at her, leant forward and whispered intimately: "You look so beautiful ... and the gown is lovely ... but I still cannot wait to see you out of it."

Sofia was impatient to consummate the marriage too. They had both abstained from love-making since they had been reunited; believing that is was the proper thing to do before their marriage. However their desire and total ardour for each other had been absolutely consuming ... they had managed a few stolen moments of very prolonged and passionate kissing in the days leading up to the ceremony but it had just made things worse.

By the time the wedding banquet was in full swing, and after a day of intense flirting and sensual whispered promises, it all got too much. Both newly betrothed husband and wife made their polite excuses from the party and slipped away quietly from the room. Hector had literally led her running down the dark hallway, impatient to finally get her alone in their chamber; she had trailed behind breathlessly, her short and dainty legs not able to move as fast as Hectors. Her other hand was pressed to her collarbone, trying to prevent the beautiful pearl and sapphire necklace Hector had given her as a wedding gift jolting free and spilling onto the floor. Hector said he had chosen sapphires to match her eyes.

Their wedding night was so different from the time they had spent together in the boarding house. Hector had been deliciously assertive this time, not so careful and gentle. He kissed her passionately, first mouth then neck. He reached up, quickly and deftly unclasping her gown which was only held together at both shoulders by the dainty open-work golden brooches. His large, impatient fingers almost snapped the precious metal in two but at the time both husband and wife had no regard for this. Her splendid gown dropped to the floor in a crumpled, discarded pile leaving her completely naked.

Sofia remembered she felt a little self-conscious at first – her body was not the same after carrying and giving birth to Scamandrius. She had murmured this worry to Hector as he had pinned her down to the bed and began kissing her breasts. He simply looked up, smiled and ran his fingers gently over her little pot-belly and across to her hips, lowering himself down to kiss the pinky-silver stretch marks which had appeared on them during her pregnancy. "These are beautiful you know – you got these by keeping our baby safe and warm inside you ..." he whispered reassuringly in return. Sofia wasn't really sure if he truly meant this or whether he was being kind to ease her mind but she had no time to ponder this any longer as Hector began to do delightfully naughty things with his mouth, things that Cassandra used to gossip about back in the farm dormitory.

The rest of the night was a blur of touch, taste and pleasure. It was a revelation. Certainly, she had made love with Hector before but it was never anything like this ... so animal yet so intimate, so exciting yet so comfortable.

Hector had laughed playfully at her, she remembered. The sun was coming up and the couple were sitting on the dressing table chair, naked, exhausted and beaded with sweat. Hector was still inside her, Sofia on top although both were now blissfully sated, for a while anyway. He held her face in one hand, looked at her for a moment and kissed her passionately. Then he laughed breathlessly: "I can't believe Cassandra told you about using your mouth on a man but she didn't tell you that women can enjoy love making just as much as men!" This was true. She didn't realise that women could climax so she obviously had the surprise of her life when she actually did. She had never experienced anything like the waves of intense pleasure that had pulsed from her groin and out to her fingers, toes and head like ripples caused by a pebble dropped in water. It had made her dizzy, her skin tingle all over ... and she couldn't wait to experience it again. Hector did not disappoint.

She remembered curling up to sleep in Hectors arms that night, as one, both far too hot to have the sheets pulled over them. She remembered thinking that if she was to die right there and then, she would die the happiest woman on earth.

It had not taken Sofia long to fall pregnant again of course – the newlyweds spent almost every evening (and morning) making up for lost time. When Sofia discovered she was with child again, Hector and his brother Paris were not in Troy – they had been sent on a diplomatic mission by their father, back to the shores of Greece. Relations had been good between both nations since the war, especially now with the union of Achilles and Briesis. Rumour had it that Achilles was now the most powerful man in Greece and that Briseis was about to give birth to his half-Trojan heir – something that would cement their futures together as a nation. Priam was eager to make this harmony last. Although the visit was to be passive, she remembered that Hector had been very hesitant to leave his wife and fast-growing son ... torn once more between family and duty. But he had no choice but to leave. It had been a sad moment for Sofia, watching his shipturn into a dot as it drew closer to the horizon, slowly disappearing. He might miss his sons' first steps or first words she had thought as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

Life would be so empty without him but Sofia had accepted a long time ago that her husband had two loves: his family and the fair land of Troy ... but this did not make her miss him any less.

She was not like the other women – she could not while away her days sewing tapestries and singing. Hector had given her a patch of garden to tend as a hobby knowing that his wife's mind needed different stimulation from the others but in his absence, the women of the court ridiculed her for it, whispering about her dirty sandals and rough hands. Sofia didn't care. It gave her solitude to spent hours in the sun planting and weeding. She had leant from working on the farm that keeping her hands and mind busy out in the open air was good for the soul. It took her mind away from worrying about Hector, took the ache away from her heart – just for a little while.

Thank the gods that she had Cassandra in Troy! She had been a little angry at first that Sofia had withheld from her the truth about 'the soldier' but this soon waned as Sofia had relayed the whole story and she began to understand Sofia's reason for keeping Hector a secret. On their arrival, Cassandra insisted that she act as Sofia's handmaiden, that she 'works for her keep'. Sofia was not comfortable with the idea to begin with – in her eyes they were friends, equals, no matter what. But this arrangement was not as bad as Sofia had first thought. They were still the best of friends, more companions than princess and servant. Sometimes it was like they had never left the farm – they would still brush each other's hair and gossip like old women. Along with Cassandra, Sofia had made a friend of Helen, Paris' wife. She was nice enough although perhaps a little more guarded and formal than Sofia. It seemed like their friendship had been formed out of one common bond – both the wives of the great princes of Troy and both a little shunned by the ladies of the court.

Helen was beautiful but her eyes held a great sadness. She was unable to bear children for Paris, although she longed for nothing more than have his baby. She had miscarried twice in the time Sofia had known her. Paris, in typical fashion, had remained outwardly cheerful and optimistic to reassure his wife but Helen had taken their back luck as a curse on her womanhood and abilities as a wife. She believed that the gods were punishing her for her infidelity whilst married to Menelaus and for starting the great war between Greece and Troy. Sofia tried to comfort her as best she could. It was obvious that Paris loved her no matter what and she told Helen this continously.

The day the princes arrived back in Troy Sofia was hardly able to stand and greet them. The royal family had gathered in the great hall to greet the long-absent princes. Hector literally rushed up the steps, with no regard for composure, his eyes darting around the room looking for his beloved wife. He finally spotted her and strode over to where she sat in excitement at being reunited with Sofia but his elated expression soon turned to confusion when he released that she was not attempting to stand and rush over to greet him ... what was wrong? He stopped suddenly in his tracks to see her clumsily and slowly stand from her chair, very much like an old woman would. Grasping the arms she lifted herself up, the strain of doing this showing on her round-looking face. But as her crumpled torso straightened her could see a bump appear ... a very large bump in fact. The broad smile reappeared on his face when he realised she was pregnant and totally overjoyed and he took her in his arms and held her tightly, somewhat hindered by her huge stomach.

It was only a few hours later that Hector realised that all was not as wonderful as he had first thought. Whilst Sofia was taking a nap Hector summonsed the royal physician, alarmed that his wife looked pale and was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. The Physician explained that he believed Sofia was not carrying one but two babies – twins – and that it was a proving massive strain on her small frame to carry such a load. The news was bittersweet for Hector. He was overjoyed at the news, the blessing of twins ... but was on the other hand understandably worried for the health of his wife. The Physician continued to warn him that not only was the strain of pregnancy dangerous to Sofia and the unborn babies but delivery would be even more hazardous and problematic due to Sofia's small size and current weakened constitution. There was a good chance that one – or both - babies would not survive ... and the birth could prove fatal for Sofia too. Hectors heart jumped into his throat. It felt like an arrow had pierced his heart as he heard the physician speak these words. He remained in shocked silence for a moment, trying to take it in ... the news had knocked all the breath from him. He couldn't bear to lose Sofia in the same way he did Andromache. Brave Hector did not fear battle or death ... but he certainly feared losing his precious Sofia and his unborn children. On the advice of the physician, Sofia was never told of the true risk of her pregnancy in case the extra stress would weaken her condition further.

But Sofia knew something was wrong. Of course she knew. The pregnancy had been much more difficult compared to when she was carrying Scamandrius ... it had been long months of sickness, aches and pains and right now she seemed to spend most of her time asleep.

Also she knew by the way her husband had been acting. Of course he had been as attentive, caring and patient as ever ... and he always smiled. But she could see the worry and concern thinly veiled in his dark eyes.

He would disappear mysteriously every morning ... one time she had secretly followed him ... right to the temple ... to pray. This was not unusual. She knew he went to the temple every other day ... and she knew that he attended to pray for the souls of Andromache and his stillborn son. They had never spoken about this very private gesture; it was almost like a silent understanding between husband and wife. Perhaps Hector thought it might upset Sofia or make her feel inferior if she knew - but in truth she was pleased that her husband seemed to find comfort in his visits and was keeping Andromache's memory alive. He would always love his first wife, Sofia realised that - It's just that the gods had chosen a different path for him ... and sadly for her. But what did the gods have planned for Sofia? She guessed that Hector went to the temple every day now to try to influence just that.

The birth had been difficult, just as the physician had predicted. Sofia had felt ill after dinner, a dragging ache in her stomach like she had gulped down too much air with her mouthfuls of food. She had felt like this last week, but it was a false alarm. She retired to bed early, not wanting to alarm her husband – last week he had run around panicking like a headless chicken. But, in the middle of the night, Hector awoke to find the bed damp and his wife awake next to him, doubled up in pain.

It was a long and arduous labour which lasted right into the next evening. Hector never left her side the whole time; even though the midwife pleaded for him to leave, echoing what she had said to him hours before Andromache passed away ... 'not a man's place'. But these words awakened terrible memories ... and his stubborn determination. He stayed to hold his frightened wife's hand, to mop her sweaty brow and to whisper words of love and encouragement. He stayed even when Sofia was yelling in sheer pain, digging her fingernails hard into his hand, the bed covered in blood. Sofia did not remember this crucial part of her labour ... she had been in so much pain she had almost passed out. Hector on the other hand did not bat an eyelid – he had seen so much pain, blood and gore on the battlefield that watching his wife give birth was nothing in comparison.

The first baby – a girl – arrived kicking and screaming, full of life. The second, a boy, followed a while later; Sofia was just too exhausted to push any more but after much encouragement from Hector, he finally arrived. The baby did not move or make a sound. Panicking, the midwife held him up, dangling by the legs, slapping his little red buttocks, a shock to clear his airway. Still no signs of life. In desperation, she unblocked his tiny nostrils and mouth with a cotton swab, her hand shaking, and then massaged his small chest with her gently with her fingers to try to encourage him to breathe. It was as if time had stopped. But then, he let out a little gasp and a cry. Alive.

Hector breathed deep, closing his eyes, scrunching them up in sheer relief, tears streaming down his tired face – of thankfulness, of happiness. Both babies – alive. Two tiny bundles, two mops of dark hair, two crinkly red faces, crying and yelling. Who could have thought it would be such a blissful noise to hear. His wife – also alive, drenched in sweat, still gripping his hand tightly, her body shaking with the sheer exertion and stress of labour. But she was smiling with joy too.

The gods had heard his prayers and granted them.

That night Hector had sat in the darkness of their chamber, on a chair pulled up to the side of the crib. The silver light from the full moon outside lit their little faces as if they were being blessed by the gods themselves. He silently watched over the sleeping new-born bundles, too excited to sleep himself. His eyes shining, he looked at the little miracles as if he was scared to leave them. So precious. What if the fragile little things stopped breathing? What if he had dreamt them?

Sofia had woken late that morning, the bed empty and cold next to her. But as she slowly sat up, her body aching all over from the arduous labour, she saw Hector slumped uncomfortably in a chair at the end of the bed, sound asleep by the side of the cradle – he had finally lost his battle with sleep. She smiled gently at the scene, her heart full of warmth ... now that was another beautiful memory.

That was a few months ago now. Things were still difficult. Sofia had not fully recovered from her pregnancy and labour. Added to that, the strain of looking after and feeding two newborns did not help. She was offered a nursemaid of course, but Sofia did not believe in giving her babies any other milk but her own. She felt drained most of the time; it seemed that she spent most of her time sleeping or with a baby attached to her breast. She had already lost all her extra baby-weight, perhaps a little too much. She looked pale, drawn and thin just like she did all that time ago in the Greek cell. Hector worried about his wife but at the same time, felt so helpless – he couldn't feed the babies, or cuddle them when they craved their mother.

But he was a help in ways he did not realise. He took as much care of Scamandrius as his duties would allow. Hector amused him, distracted him, and indulged him. Their son had grown into quite a mischievous little tearaway, from the time he could crawl and especially now he had learnt to walk. If you took your eyes from him for a moment, he would have pulled a vase from a table or be sitting muddy and happily splashing in the nearest puddle – he certainly had his mother's inquisitiveness and his father's bravery. Hector still absolutely doted on him and probably did not scold Scamandrius as much as his mother would ... but he was still a happy child, always smiling and laughing even when he stumbled onto his own podgy bottom with a large 'bump'. He was becoming so much like his father it was a constant source of amusement around the palace ... the same facial expressions, the same dark eyes and sticky-out ears ... the boy was certainly the apple of Hectors eye as well as Priam's.

Cassandra helped out as much as she could of course but she had a family of her own now, a husband ... and against all the odds – she had managed to conceive and now had a bouncing baby boy of her own to look after. She had married Hectors best friend and principal general in the Trojan army, Lysander. He was a little younger than Hector but almost as tall, dark and handsome with a cheeky smile and a dimpled chin. It broke many young female hearts in the court when Cassandra managed to win his heart – after just one day of acquaintance. They had met the day that they had arrived at the palace, almost at the same time as Sofia was presented to Priam. There was instant chemistry as soon as their eyes met over the crowded hall just like in the old love songs the women at the farm used to sing. Lysander had joked that Hector had brought Cassandra back as a gift for his friend ... Cassandra giggled like a naïve schoolgirl ... and that was that - Smitten. After an intensely torrid and passionate affair, they married quickly. Sofia guessed that Cassandra had either fallen pregnant just before her betrothal or had been lucky enough to conceive on her wedding night as the baby followed soon after.

Strange how marriage and motherhood had not changed Cassandra. She was the same girl Sofia had met on the farm ... but now she was a woman - mature. Sofia felt that she had not changed much herself either ... in fact she knew that she hadn't. She still felt the same dizzy rush of excitement when she looked at Hector, just like when she had hidden behind the tree and watched him ride past, dropping the mushrooms on the wet ground.

She sighed to herself. Time seemed to be slipping by quickly like grains of sand through fingers. It seemed only a moment ago that she was that scared teenage girl hiding behind the tree, the schoolmistress destined to be a spinster, the dirty, dishevelled prisoner in a Greek cell, the bereaved mother working on a farm. She still often wondered how she managed to get here. Not even four years had passed since her papa had passed away and now look at her. A wife. A mother. And soon to be a Queen – a scary prospect indeed but she did pledge to remain a dutiful wife to Hector to the very end. Now she also had to be a dutiful queen to the Trojan people.

Papa certainly would be watching over her with pride now.

Where was Hector? He still had not returned to their chamber yet and it was getting late. She stood and carefully straightened her gown – she was wearing the one her husband liked, the one that draped low from behind and showed off the nape of her neck and bare back beautifully. She felt nervous and swallowed hard, her heart jumping into her throat as she thought about it. What if he rejected her, after all this time? He had promised to be a faithful husband and she did have the utmost trust in him ... but it had been so long since they had last made love.

It had been literally months since they had shared their bodies .... When he arrived back from Greece, she had been heavily pregnant and unable to make love for fear of inducing labour. Giving birth to the twins had caused her to tear, a small internal injury for which she had needed to stitches for ... and when it had healed, the stitches taken out, she did not have the energy or the physical and mental self-confidence to be naked in front of him. Hector, may the gods bless him a hundred times over, had been so patient and understanding. He had not tried to rush her or instigate anything. But now ... now she was ready. But her husband was not here. Only a short time ago he would have walked through walls to spend the night in bed with his wife ... perhaps he found her attractive no longer .... Sofia sighed heavily again and scolded herself for thinking such terrible thoughts.

She finally found him. He was sitting a desk on the far side of the huge throne room, hunched over, beavering away, reading and then signing parchments with a sharpened twig and a messy pot of ink. The room was lit by one single candle that sat next to him on the desk. It had almost burnt down to the wick, a messy glob of wax and hardly lit the room. The light glinted off the huge bronze throne, set on a granite plinth, causing little strange flashes and shadows. Tapestries hung by his head but it was far too dark to make out the patterns that Trojan women had worked so hard to craft many years ago. It must have been a strain on his eyes toanything much, she thought but he was too distracted to notice, frowning fiercely. His features softened as little as he heard dainty footsteps approach on the shiny tiled floor and watched his wife slowly approach, all dressed up and looking beautiful in that lovely gown he favoured.

"Hector, there you are! I was beginning to worry ..."

"My apologies Sofia. The Council meeting ran late. Apparently we have much to discuss before my coronation .... and so many things to read and sign!" he exclaimed, gesturing to his desk for of papers, seemingly resentful of his duties.

"Burning the midnight oil will not help anyone. You look tired." She could tell. The rims of eyelids were red and he was absentmindedly rubbing his dark eyes with his hands, like he always did.

Hector shrugged. He had been so busy he hadn't thought about why his eyelids were suddenly feeling heavy and sore. "A little. I suppose I was up early this morning."

She said nothing, simply reached forward to his frowning brow, and clenched her fist near it, pretending to pull his frown away and hide it behind her back, just like she did that time during their escape from the Greeks, near the lake. She still did this sometimes, her secret way of telling Hector he as frowning too much, her way of getting him to open up. He still found this charming, like the first time. He smiled gently, putting his pen down, a little bit of ink smattering the parchment on impact with the table.

"You look beautiful" he beamed, reaching for her unhidden hand and massaging it gently in his palms "... how are you feeling?"

"Much better today ...." She answered breezily. This was not entirely true. Even though she already had a nap that afternoon, she was still fighting off tiredness ... and was determined to win the battle.

"And the babies? Little prince Scamandrius?"

"All sleeping soundly. I think you wore Scamandrius out today thank goodness!" Hector had taken him out that afternoon, a stolen couple of hours away from the palace. He had taken Scamandrius to the plains to watch the wild horses gallop by. "... How are you? I haven't seen you all day .... I've missed you." She continued.

"I have missed you too. It seems like so long ago that we actually spent any quality time together ..."

She smiled sadly, locking her fingers into his: "Because it is ...."

"Sorry. I know I have not been a very good husband over the past couple of weeks. Council have been very demanding of me and my time ...." He mumbled apologetically, withdrawing his hand and drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"Yes. Too demanding." She answered gruffly, without thinking. "I wish they would at least give you time to grieve for your father ..." but then she realised she had spoken out of turn and inwardly cursed herself for being so rudely outspoken: "I am sorry. It is not my place to say." She added, shaking her head sorrowfully.

She had expected her comment to rile Hector but instead he smiled softly to himself at her little outburst and reach forward with his hand, touching her chin and gently lifting it so their eyes met his again: "No, it is. You are my wife, you know me better than any living thing on this earth. I know you only speak because you care ... because you are concerned."

"And I am concerned, I can see that you are very troubled Hector ..." Her eyes pleaded, as she lent forward and took his other hand in hers, clasping it tightly.

Hector slowly dropped his hand from her chin and lowered his dark eyes sadly, shaking his head dejectedly: "I do not wish to burden you with my worries Sofia. You have enough on your plate with the twins at the moment ...."

Sofia rolled her eyes to the ceiling wearily. The darting light from Hectors solitary candle made the ceiling feel lower than it actually was, almost menacing as if it was closing in on them both.

"Your worries are my worries! Oh Hector, we used to talk but now it feels as if we grow apart ... just because I have babies to look after does not mean you are no longer a primary concern of mine!" She exclaimed desperately.

Her voice echoed round the empty room for what seemed like an age, bouncing off the columns and mouldings with force. Then followed a prolonged silence. Hectors mind raced, trying to think of what to tell his wife. She was right; he should not keep things from her. But all his anxieties had built up in him with such force he felt he might explode with emotion, just like a volcano, as he began to explain to her. How could he keep his composure?

"How will I ever be as great as my father Sofia? I have never desired to be King of Troy so how will I ever rule it properly?" he blurted suddenly, eyes to the table and fingers fiddling with the corner of a parchment.

She took both of his hands in hers. "Hector, look at me .... You are the best warrior and army commander. Troy's secure walls and prosperity is evidence of that. You are the best husband and father for which I can vouch for ... and I'm sure Lysander, Paris and your dear father - if he was still with us - would say that you are the best friend, brother and son. Of course you will be a worthy king."

"My father was a worthy king, a good king. But I'm not sure if I am. I am so different to my father ... for example, I have no patience for this ..." he answered, gesturing at the paperwork in front of him with his eyes.

"...You are different from your father, that is undeniable and you will rule differently. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. Think about it ... Priam has made sure since the day you were born that you would become a great King. He has nurtured and encouraged you since you were a baby ... I have seen you do the same with Scamandrius, unconsciously. And what better preparation is there than making you commander of the army?! You have great experience in leading and have gained the love and trust of your people. Priam trusted you to take over. Don't let him down."

Hector pondered her words for a moment then smiled, grasping her hands more tightly. His eyes burnt right into her, making her shiver.

"You know Sofia, sometimes it seems as if you are so wise like you have lived a hundred lives on this earth ...are you sure you do not want to be monarch instead of me?" He then added jokily with little tinkling laugh.

Sofia laughed too: "I think I am happy enough looking after three children and a husband thank you very much!"

"Look after me?!" He exclaimed in mock disbelief, his dark eyebrows raised and his eye crinkling with mirth

"Yes. That is why I have come to find you. I have decided that it's time for you to come to bed."

"I am a little tired but I have so much to do here Sofia ...."

"The paperwork can wait until tomorrow. Besides I do not want you to come to bed just for sleep..." She offered, the jokey tone had evaporated suddenly as she became more nervous, her voice quivering. She was not sure how to react if he turned her down.

For a moment, Hector did not quite realise what she meant. His eyebrows gathered to the bridge of his nose in confusion as he studied her now serious face. But then they dropped back down just as the penny did.

"Oh." Is all he could think of saying in reply, a little smile creeping on his face as he pressed his palms flat on the desk in anticipation. "You are ready?" He continued to ask, just to make sure.

Sofia simply nodded.

"You are right!" he exclaimed breezily, standing up and taking his wife's hand, leading her to her feet "this can wait. I cannot!"

He craved to spend the night with his lovely wife, the intimacy and comfort of her touch and the feeling of being inside of her. That night he was relieved he could be a finally be a loving husband again, not a worrisome King. He breathed deeply in eagerness as he led Sofia up to their chamber.

She was right. Things would be fine.

She was at his side after all.


End file.
